Our Memories Blanket Us
by Orange-Peel-Pixie
Summary: When everything just keep getting worse, Dougie needs his friends' help to become himself again. My first ever fic, please read!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is my first ever fic, please read and let me know what you think.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in this story who also happens to exist in the real world.. that should cover it, right?  
><strong>  
><strong>Oh, and are you meant to put warnings for bad language? Take this as a warning if you're offended by swearing and that!<strong>

**Also, the title is taken from a My Chemical Romance song that has nothing to do with the story other than it sounded like it fit.**

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><p>Dougie leaned against the wall outside the club, cigarette in hand, ears ringing from the music, enjoying the cool December air against his skin that was still hot from the night of drinking and dancing. He raised his hand to his lips, taking a long drag on his cigarette. These were the only times he really enjoyed smoking, while out clubbing with the guys. It gave him a bit of time away, a break from awkwardly talking to people he didn't know and dancing to music he wasn't even that into. Not that clubbing was an altogether negative activity, he just liked having an excuse to break up the evening every so often. Danny and Harry were both inside, Danny dancing with a tall blonde girl, and Harry, last Dougie had seen, was sitting in the corner, making out with a petite and pretty redhead. Tom had left early, as usual, and gone home to Gio who wasn't feeling well that night. The night was better before Tom left, Dougie thought, before it was just him and the two guys who were so absorbed in their attempts to chat up girls that they ended up totally ignoring him in the process.<p>

God, that sounded pathetic. He thought for a minute maybe he could try it, try just finding some girl to hook up with, there were plenty of hot ones here. But he couldn't, not because he wasn't attracted to anyone, but because his head just wasn't in the right place for that right now, not so soon after everything that had happened with his ex. He felt like such a girl sometimes when he thought like that, weren't men meant to put sex before feelings or something like that?

A shiver ran through his body, as the heat from the club was replaced by the chill of the night air. He put his arms round himself, his t-shirt flapping around his body in the breeze. Along with the cold, a new wave of melancholic self-pity hit him. His best friends, his bandmates, didn't care enough to spend time with him, and his ex – he couldn't bring himself to even think her name tonight – well, obviously she didn't care. And even at the same time he was thinking this, he knew that it was, the first past at least, not so much true, but as a result of slightly too much Jack Daniels and a bad couple of weeks. He took his phone out of his pocket and pressed the screen on, to have the clock on it tell him that it was 2:38am. Perhaps it was time to head home, the first vaguely sensible thought he had had in a while. He put his hand to his lips once more and inhaled the final drag of his cigarette, before rolling the still-lit cigarette butt between his thumb and middle finger, and flicking out into the road. He watched as it landed in a puddle, extinguishing instantly.

Pushing himself away from the wall he was leaning on, Dougie prepared himself to leave. He contemplated going back in to tell Danny and Harry he was calling it a night, but decided against interrupting both of their attempts to pull, instead beginning the short walk towards the taxi rank, swaying slightly as he stumbled his feet along the ground. Perhaps it was a little more than slightly too much Jack Daniels. As he concentrated on making his feet move forwards without tripping over, Dougie became aware of quite how tired he was. It had been a while since he had slept properly They'd been busy lately, between writing new songs, recording them, interviews every other day, and getting ready for tour, along with his own recent drama. It was beginning to take its toll. Not far now though, he thought, rubbing his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter, in a vain attempt to wake himself up a bit. Stumbling along, he pushed a cigarette between his lips, and tried to make his hands, numb from the cold, make the lighter work. He was too busy concentrating on the lighter to see where he was going.

"Oi, watch where you're fucking going, fag." Dougie heard, as he felt himself collide with a body. He looked up. There were three guys, each one tall and broad, hoods pulled up over their heads, shielding their faces from view.

"Oh, uh, I-I-I'm sorry." Dougie mumbled, trying to regain what little composure he had previously. His unlit cigarette and fallen from his mouth in the collision, and Dougie shoved his lighter back into the pocket of his black skinny jeans, keeping his eyes down, ready to keep on walking.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" The one standing to the left said. It wasn't so much a question as an accusation.

Dougie kept his head down and began to step away, just wanting to get home, go to bed, and to get as far away from this night as fast as possible.

"Oi, he asked you a fucking question, fag." The first one said, stepping in Dougie's way. Dougie smelled alcohol on breath, but he wasn't sure if it was coming from him or these three, or perhaps both.

Dougie stayed quiet. Or rather, he tried to stay quiet as a slight whimper escaped from his lips. Oh shut up, he thought to himself, there's nothing to be scared of, don't be such a pansy, it's just some stupid drunk guys who don't have enough brain cells between them to think up a better insult than "fag". His best attempt at a pep talk running through his head on a loop, his legs willing him to run far away.

"I said, he asked you a fucking question." The first one said again slower this time, his face bent down only inches away from Dougie's. Dougie opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could form, he felt the searing pain of a fist colliding with his cheek. Dougie recoiled, falling to the floor instantly, his legs no longer strong enough to hold him. Shock overcame him, nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and he couldn't sift through everything in his head to figure out what he was supposed to do, so he just lay, curled into himself, the pavement cold and wet against his side. He tasted salty metal in his mouth as blood dripped from his nose and where the inside of his mouth had been hit against his teeth. He winced in pain as he felt shoes connect with his stomach violently, hitting him repeatedly. He lay as still as he could, only moving with each hit, conscious the entire time, eyes clenched shut, and, worse of all, suddenly sober, loosing the cushion of his drunkenness to dull the pain. He felt his eyes hot and stinging with tears, willing them to stop, willing everything to stop, wishing that they would just leave, or that someone was here, or that someone would help, or that they could at least, at the very least, knock him unconscious so that he couldn't have to feel anything anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**If anyone's reading this, I hope you liked the first chapter, I've got a little more written already, so I'll probably just post quite a bit of it in one go.**  
><strong>Again, please let me know what you think!<br>Also I can only apologize for typos. Every time I think I've found them all and then I just find another! **

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><p>Danny and Harry walked together down the road from the club to the taxi rank. Dougie had disappeared earlier, and though neither new for certain, they were pretty sure he'd just gotten bored and gone home – the club they had been at wasn't exactly his scene. Both had obtained the phone numbers of the girls they had been after and were quite pleased, walking along in their slightly dazed and slightly drunken state.<p>

"Dude, doesn't that look a bit like…" Harry began, as a curled up body against a wall came into their field of vision. Harry took off running, Danny following close behind as they approached the battered and bruised body, seemingly conscious, crying, shivering, knees pulled into his chest with his head buried into them, blonde hair scraggly with sweat and streaked with blood.

"Dougs?" Danny asked, bending down to his level.

Dougie made some semblance of an effort to lift his head from his knees, recognising his friend's voice, but not really wanting to look up in case he was just imagining it, instead preferring to keep the fantasy alive by the denial of possible reality.

"Oh my god, Dougs. What the hell happened?" Harry asked, also crouching down and placing his hand gently onto Dougie's shoulder.

Dougie flinched briefly as Harry's hand came into contact with him. Harry felt him do so, and as he did, felt his heart sink deep into his stomach. It was only when the hand stayed, soft and reassuring on his shoulder, that Dougie finally raised his head, coming to accept that he wasn't just imagining his friends in front of him.

"Bloody hell, dude," Danny gasped as he saw Dougie's face. His left eye was red and the skin all torn up, the start of what looked like it would become a black eye. There was dried blood coming from a series of cuts on his forehead, where it has hit the pavement. His lips too were coated with congealing and coagulating blood, as was his nose. Any yet, worse than that, worse than seeing the physical pain that their friend was in, was seeing the look on Dougie's face. His bright blue eyes were bloodshot and glistening from tears, contrasting with the puffy, raw skin surrounding them, begging for help and yet dead, devoid of emotion, just staring, pleading.

"Dougie, mate, what happened?" Harry asked again, trying to keep his voice calm despite the anger rising in him. How anyone could do this to Dougie, to little Dougie of all people?

Dougie tried to speak. He parted his lips to talk, which sent aching pains shooting through his bruised face. All he could manage was a sort of whimpering squeak, his best attempt at words, which he cursed himself for internally. He wanted to speak, he didn't want to be pathetic like this, all he wanted was just to be himself again. But something wouldn't let him, that same part of his brain that clung to self-pity and sadness. Seeing Dougie like this all but brought tears to Harry's eyes. He wanted to help, to make him safe, to make him their Dougie again. He looked over at Danny, neither of them knowing what to do. Seeing how much Dougie was shivering, Danny unzipped his leather jacket, slipped it off, and placed it round Dougie's shoulders, though he wasn't sure if he was shaking from the cold or from fear.

He looked so young, Harry thought. Younger than he had done all those years ago when they'd all first met, and he was so young back then. He looked like a child who had lost his way, or been beaten up in the school playground, not like a twenty-three year old who had been on his way home from a night out. Harry rubbed Dougie's shoulder with his hand that was now placed over Danny's jacket, trying to warm him up, and trying to keep him grounded, to keep him from disappearing off into his own head.

"We should get him home," Said Danny, slowly, "Or to Tom's house, Tom'll know what to do, won't he?"

Harry nodded, "But, he's hurt, maybe we should take him to hospital?"

"No… not hospital. Tom's house. Tom's house is good." Dougie's voice came strained and forced, choking the words out.

So relieved was Harry to hear his friend's voice that a slight smile briefly crept onto his face, in spite of the circumstances. It disappeared soon after when he glanced back down at Dougie, realising that speaking had caused him pain to the point more tears were rolling down his red cheeks again.

"Oh, Doug," Harry murmured, as he carefully pulled Dougie towards him to a hug, ever so gently to make sure he didn't hurt Dougie's beaten body and more. Dougie felt Danny's arms encasing him too, as he cried into Harry's chest.

"Oh, Dougs, it's okay, it'll be okay."


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter's a little long but I couldn't find a good place to split it. Again please let me know what you think!**  
><strong>Chapter 4 should be up within a day or so!<strong>

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><p>Danny paid the taxi driver with a fistful of crumpled notes, not checking to see how much he was giving him, instead just assuming it was enough when the taxi driver smiled and drove off before Danny had a chance to realise he had given him £75 for a £30 journey. Leaning with his arm round Harry, putting his weight onto him, Dougie made his way up the three stairs to the front door of Tom's house, breathing shakily. When they reached the top, Dougie leaned against the side of the building, trying to steady his breathing, while Harry rung the doorbell.<p>

Tom shot awake at the sound of the doorbell. He glanced over to the luminous clock on his beside table, seeing that it was 5:43am. Who the hell was ringing the doorbell at 5:43am? He looked over at Giovanna, who was still fast asleep. Maybe he'd just dreamt the doorbell sound, he thought, but just as he was about to try to go back to sleep, it rung again.

"Tom, hurry up." Danny muttered impatiently from outside the door. Dougie was overwhelmed by the cold of the night's air, even though he was now wearing both Harry and Danny's jackets. Danny was too full of adrenaline to feel the cold, but he knew that they needed to get inside soon, for Dougie.

"Maybe we should just go to one of ours? Call Tom in the morning?" Harry suggested, moving over to stand closer Dougie, and, feeling him shivering, put his arm around his friend's freezing shoulders.

Danny nodded, "Just give it another minute or so, yeah?" He pressed the doorbell a few more times in quick succession before hammering on the door. Come on Tom, I don't know how we're going to deal with this without you, Danny thought.

Grabbing the nearest cat - who happened to be Marvin - for protection against the potential intruders, a rather groggy Tom made his way downstairs, his Jedi dressing gown hastily thrown on over his boxer shorts. He fiddled with the cord of the robe, trying to get it done up before he got to the door. Holding Marvin in one hand, Tom leaned forwards to unlock the door, and went to pull it open, Marvin let out a squeal and leapt from Tom's arms, annoyed at being woken up and seemingly taken outside at such an hour.

"Well, you're no use," Tom muttered, as the fluffy orange feline ran back upstairs to bed.

Inhaling deeply, and coming to the realisation that burglars tended to break in rather than ring the doorbell, Tom quickly pulled the door open in a swift motion, peaking through. Upon seeing his friends on his doorstep, he undid the chain keeping the door attached to the doorframe, breathed a sigh of relief, and held the door open for them.

"Took you long enough, mate!" Danny smiled, glad to see Tom's face. Tom would know what to do, Tom always knew what to do.

"What are you guys doing here? You know it's like 6am, right? Have you not gone home from last night yet? Why's Doug wearing all your jackets? What's wrong? Ohmigod what happened to your face, Doug? Who did this? What happened?" Tom babbled, his voice becoming more and more panicked as he realised what was going on.

Mentally, Danny kicked himself. Of course Tom would panic, why hadn't he thought to phone before hand?

"Mate, breathe," Danny said, grabbing Tom by the shoulders. Tom caught his breath and closed the front door, ushering his friends out of the cold and into the house. He led them into the living room, and, falling into the leadership role that Danny had hoped he would, went to put the kettle on and to get some first aid stuff from the bathroom for Dougie's injuries.

In the living room, Dougie sat at the edge of the large sofa, cushions surrounding him to lean against. A duck-egg blue, fleece blanket now replaced the jackets around his shoulders. He clutched onto the hand-stitched edges so tightly that his bitten-down fingernails dug into the palms of his hands through the fabric. Harry sat next to him on the sofa, eyes fixed firmly on Dougie's face, through his mind appeared to be elsewhere. Danny was standing, staring out the window, pacing back and forth as he did so.

Tom entered the room, carrying a tray with four mugs of tea, a packet of antiseptic wipes, antiseptic gel, and a mountain of plasters. He set the tray down on the glass coffee table, handing the mugs of tea out. Dougie took his, seeming responsive for the first time since Tom had seen him this evening. He let the blanket hang over his shoulders, and held the mug of tea, staring down into it, warming his hands against the ceramic edges. Tom knelt down next to Dougie, and picket up the packet of antiseptic wipes.

"Dougie, dude, you need to clean up those cuts on your face," Tom said gently, "Do you want to do them yourself, or should I?"

All Tom heard in reply were mumbles, too soft to hear almost. It broke his heart to see his little bassist like this.

"What did you say?" Tom asked.

"C-c-could you?" Dougie replied, barely above a whisper, but having finally found his voice, "I mean, if you don't mind, that is."

"Yeah, of course, dude." Tom replied, lowering the volume of his voice to match Dougie's so as not to startle him into retreating back within himself again. Tom hated the fact that he had been reduced to talking to his best friend as though he were a scared puppy, but it was the only thing he could think to do. He tore open the plastic packaging and took out one of the wipes, a clinical smell filling the air around the packet. Unfolding the wipe, he held it up to Dougie's forehead, dabbing it along the collection of cuts. Dougie winced back at the burning sting as it touched the open wounds, jolting and spilling some of his tea onto the couch. Harry took the mug from his hands and placed it onto the glass table, before taking Dougie's hands in his own. Dougie gripped onto Harry tightly as Tom continued.

"Sshh, I know it hurts, it's okay, everything's okay," Tom tried to soothe as he cleaned the dried blood and dirt away from a still-resistant Dougie. He felt like he was talking to a child, but then again, Doug had always been the baby of their little family.

"Is there anywhere else?" Tom asked, as he finished off Dougie's face. To his relief, the cuts were mostly shallow grazes, made to look a lot worse by the quantity of blood that had been there.

Dougie nodded slowly, "They, um, my stomach, uh," Dougie didn't want to have to talk about it just yet. Instead, he freed his hands from Harry's, and went to lift his torn t-shirt, revealing his toned yet skinny frame, red and purple with bruises, sections of skin broken off from being repeatedly hit, and caked in blood. Tom gasped, Dougie stayed with his eyes staring at Harry's, so that he would not look down; with the amount that it hurt, he didn't want to have to see it as well.

"Oh god, Dougs, I'm so sorry," Harry said in hushed tones.

"What? Why? It's not your fault." Dougie replied.

"We should have left with you. I don't know. I just wish I could have done something. I can't believe this happened to you." Harry said, his voice dripping with sympathy. He wanted to take Dougie in his arms and make him magically better, but he couldn't, because even the very act of taking him in his arms would probably hurt Dougie more.

A smile came onto Dougie's face, and a small laugh escaped from his lips. Not real laughter, that strange sort of laughter that only comes when you've been crying, the kind that gets caught up with tears and stuck in your throat.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Dude, I'm the one who's all messed up, and you're the one getting sappy with me? Isn't it meant to be, like, the other way around or something?" Dougie said through his teary half-laugh.

"Oh, cheers mate, so I'm meant to be messed up, is what you're saying?" Harry laughed, taking the opportunity of Dougie sounding vaguely like himself again to strike up some banter with his friend.

"No! God no, I mean, like –" Dougie began to protest, worried that Harry hadn't understood him.

"I know what you meant, man," Harry smiled, taking back Dougie's hands as Tom began to clean the broken skin on Dougie's stomach, "Still, I can get sappy if I want."

"You two should head home, try and get some sleep." Tom said, as he cleaned Dougie's wounds.

Harry looked over at Danny, who looked ready to pass out then an there, slumped in an armchair.

"You going to be alright, Dougs?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, of course, I've got mummy Tom here." Dougie joked back.

Harry smiled, stood up, and walked over to Danny, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. They said their goodbyes, Danny still half asleep, promising to be back in the afternoon to check in on Dougie, and left for their short walks home, two doors up and four doors down respectively.

"Come on dude, you look like you could do with some sleep too," Tom said after the others had left, "You're staying here, okay?"

Dougie nodded, yawning.

Tom ran up to the spare room, bringing down duvets and pillows, thinking that Dougie sleeping on the couch would be far easier for him than having to climb the stairs to the spare room with his body in it's current state. He stopped by his own room as well, careful not to wake Giovanna, though seeing it was now 7:30am. Quietly, he opened the cupboards and pulled out as pair of pyjamas, in case Dougie wanted to change, before rushing back down the stairs to the living room. Dougie had gotten himself up from the sofa, and moved over to the armchair Danny had been in by the time Tom had come back down. Tom made the sofa up into a make-shift bed.

"Tom?" Dougie asked. Tom was certain he'd heard Dougie's voice shake in those three letters.

"Yeah, mate?" Tom replied.

"Could you, um, would you, uh, would you mind, uh, staying down here with me? Just 'till I fall asleep." His voice tentative, like he wasn't sure he wanted to words to leave his mouth.

"Yeah, of course, dude, don't be silly. If you want we can put a movie on or something?" Tom smiled, trying to make Dougie feel more comfortable.

"Yeah, sure." Dougie replied, pushing himself up of the armchair, making his way gradually to the sofa, and laying his head on the pillows, pulling the duvet up over him so he was cocooned within it.

Tom, not bothering to ask what Dougie wanted to watch as he knew the answer already, got out his DVD of Jurassic Park, and put in the player, before going to sit down on the couch next to him to watch the film. By the time Tom had reached the sofa, Dougie's eyes were already closed. Tom sat down next to him anyway, just in case Dougie woke up in the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! Thanks to everyone/anyone who has been reading this, I really hope you like it so far, please let me know what you think. And a massive thank-you to NeverTickleASleepingDragon555 for their lovely reviews!**

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><p>Tom opened his eyes and squinted at the harsh winter sunlight coming in through the pinewood Venetian blinds. It took him a few moments to figure out where he was, and why Dougie's head was nestled in his lap, the pillows having fallen to the floor, his left thumb perched between his parted lips, tear-tracks rounds his closed eyes, leading down his face.<p>

"Morning, sleepyhead," Giovanna said, smiling over at him from where she was perched on an armchair, laptop on her knees and cup of coffee in her hand, "Y'know, I always knew the day would come when I'd wake up to find you cuddled up with one of the guys instead of in bed with me, I just always assumed it'd be with Danny," She joked. Her eyes narrowed to the figure curled in her boyfriend's arms, a more serious look coming over her face, "How is he? What happened?"

Tom sighed, trying to stand up without disturbing Dougie's sleep. He quickly replaced his legs with a pillow under Dougie's head, and covered him back up with the duvet. Standing up, he motioned to Gio to follow him through to the kitchen so that they could talk without disturbing Dougie. He picked up the freshly-brewed pot of coffee of the counter and poured himself a mug, putting it into the microwave to re-heat. He guessed Gio had been up for a while.

"So tell me, what's going on?" Gio asked, quietly.

Tom sighed, "I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. Dougs showed up here at like 6am, with Danny and Harry. He was in pretty bad shape, God, Gio, he was in such a state. From what I can gather, he left to head home last night before the other two, and gotten into some sort of trouble on his way back, where Dan and Harry found him." He said, relaying what little information he had picked up from the guys the night before, while preparing his coffee.

They heard a scream, a dull cry of pain coming from the living room. Exchanging worried looks, Tom and Giovanna ran back to check on Dougie, finding him eyes open, face and body contorted, clutching on to his stomach.

"You okay?" Tom asked, approaching the couch.

Dougie looked towards Tom, his face pinched and pained, but nodding, "Yeah, I- I think so. I moved funny in my sleep, must've woken myself up," He said, his voice shaky and he tried to breathe through the pain of his stomach. It felt exactly how would be expected, like someone had scraped all the skin from his torso and then kicked the shit out of it. Every angle he tried to move into hurt more than the last. Eventually he groaned and gave up, lying flat on his back.

"Can I get you anything, sweetie?" Gio asked, trying to smile, "Tea? Breakfast?" She glanced over at the clock on the wall, 2:30pm, "Or, well, lunch?"

Dougie shook his head, eyes closed again, not wanting to move. Why did everything always turn out like this? It's not like he was feeling particularly fantastic before his body hade been beaten up like scrambled eggs, and now he was feeling twice as shit as he had been then because he couldn't move without feeling like someone was taking a sledgehammer to his bones.

"This sucks." He announced, to no one in particular.

"I know, dude, but it'll heal, you'll be back on your feet in no time," Tom replied.

Dougie forced his lips into a slight smile as he looked over at his friend's concerned face. He knew Tom meant well, but he was missing the point. A point that Dougie could not, however much he wanted to, even know where to start to explain. There weren't words that could adequately describe how he felt, and if there were, he didn't know them. The best he could think to describe it was like his brain was trapped in a small grey box with no way out, and every time he tried to breathe his breath got stuck inside the grey box along with his brain, and there was no air left for him. But that barely even made sense in his head, let alone to someone who had no idea what it felt like.

"Hey, dude, it's alright, sshh, sshh," Tom's voice was hushed and raspy, as he bent down to Dougie's side to soothe him, stroking his friend's matted, blonde hair. Dougie hadn't even realised he was crying until he felt the salty tears burn the wounds on his cheeks.

"No… it's… not," Dougie choked between sobs. He breathed as deeply as he could, trying to compose himself, "I'm sorry, I'm just being pathetic. I'll get out of your way, thanks for letting me stay here last night." He pushed his elbows into the sofa to heave his aching body into a sitting position.

"Hey now, don't be silly, you're going to stay here for a bit and let us look after you, alright? You've not been right lately, I know, so please, for me, for the band if nothing else, just stay here until you're, well, you're _you_ again." Tom said, firmly, his hand on Dougie's shoulder.

Dougie sighed, relaxing into the cushions. He knew it wasn't worth protesting against Tom once his mind was made up on matters like this.

The doorbell rang, startling Dougie, his eyes opening wide like a deer caught in some headlights. Giovanna opened it, Tom not wanting to leave Dougie, letting in Harry and Danny, armed with a dark red backpack full of an assortment of Dougie's things.

"How's he doing?" Harry asked, quietly to Giovanna, standing in the doorway of the living room.

"Not great," She sighed in response, "He'll get there though, he's strong, our Dougs, don't worry."

Harry gave a slight nod, before he and Danny made their way to the couch. Dougie lifted his head when he saw them, and attempted a smile. He knew he should be pleased to see them, they had done so much for him, after all. He knew how lucky he was to have his friends around him, now more than ever. And yet, the rational side of his brain was overshadowed by his looming depression, telling him he was nothing but a burden, especially now, to his friends' otherwise happy lives.

"Hey, how's it going?" Harry asked softly, taking a seat on an armchair facing the sofa.

Dougie just shrugged in response, not knowing what to say. He was fine, he was numb, he was nothing. Giovanna busied herself in the kitchen, preparing lunch (or, by the time of day, dinner), for everyone. Dougie had not eaten since he had arrived, a behaviour so out of the ordinary for him, that Tom knew it must be more than the trauma of the night before making Dougie this way. They sat there in a strange sort of silence, not awkward, but not exactly comfortable either. Harry stood up and got his pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, announcing that he was going out to smoke, leaving out the fact that he needed to have some time with his head. He felt responsible for Dougie, this had been his fault, as far as he could see, and it wasn't right that he couldn't fix it.

"Is it, uh, okay if I come with?" Dougie asked slowly, thinking that nicotine may make him feel a little more human.

"Of course, mate," Harry replied, going over to help Dougie up.

"It's okay," Dougie winced, pushing himself up of the couch, "I can, ugh, I don't need help."

Harry just nodded as he stood back from the sofa, although he couldn't help but think Dougie had meant that last part in more ways than just in regards to standing up. Eventually, he had managed to push himself up into a standing position. He leant on his left leg, shooting pain going up his right one when it put weight on it.

"I, um, I think I did something to my ankle last night," He practically whispered. He wasn't quite sure why he was saying it, the last thing he wanted to do was make anyone worry about him anymore than they already were, but he still found himself saying it anyway.

Harry was by his side in an instant, arm around him so Dougie could lean his weight onto his friend's strong and muscular body. They hobbled along to the front door, Harry grabbing one of Tom's coats from the coat hooks by the door for Dougie to put on once they got outside, seeing he was still wearing the same clothes as last night, blood-stained and torn. Not bothering to put shoes on, they got to the front porch, and Harry lowered Dougie to sit on one of the cold, stone stairs, taking a place beside him. He took two cigarettes out of the packet and lit them both at the same time, before handing one to Dougie.

"Thanks," Dougie said, inhaling deeply, "For everything, man."

"Hey, don't worry about it, mate." Harry replied.

"Seriously, though, I don't know what I'd have done without you." Dougie said, quietly, looking at the pavement beneath him.

Tears pricked at Dougie's eyes as he spoke, a feeling he had become all too familiar with lately. But this was different, it wasn't from pain, or despair, or fear. They were tears of an altogether different variety, a sad kind of happy, an oxymoron of an emotion. He felt Harry put a hand on his knee, and rest his head on Dougie's hunched shoulders, staying, more content than Dougie had felt in a long time, while they smoked.

"You know you can talk to me, right Dougs? About anything, I don't mind," Harry murmured, his mouth close to Dougie's ear.

Dougie nodded. It was true. He knew that Harry would listen to whatever rubbish he had to say, but it was just a matter of whether or not Dougie could make enough sense of what had happened in his head to have words leave his mouth.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry that this was a bit filler-esque. I know this is going to sound horribly pretentious, but I'm an art student so I spent most of my day being told that the pretentious rubbish I say is great... I'm really interested in the concept of the "afterwards" of a story, like what happens after the event, and outside of the plot, so this may not so much about what happens, but more just a look into Dougie's recovery or something like that. I'm not sure though, I've only got a little more planned out and I'm sort of already just making it up as I go along a bit. Chapter 5 should be ready to put up soon though!**

**Thanks for reading, and again, please review! I really want to know what people think.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank-you so much to everyone who's been reading this! Here's chapter 5 :). Please review, it really means a lot to me!**

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><p>Though a couple of days had passed since That Night, very little had actually changed. Dougie was still staying at Tom's, still sleeping on the sofa, his ankle and the bruising to his ribs making the three flight of stairs climb to the spare room nearly impossible for him. He was having trouble sleeping too, Tom staying up with him every night until abound 5am, or until he was certain his younger friend was asleep. Dougie had not eaten a single meal since That Night, instead picking at small bits of food, pushing the rest around his plate, saying he was too tired to eat, or just wasn't hungry. Tom knew this wasn't true, each night he stayed with Dougie, he heard deep, low grumbles emitting from his friend's shrinking stomach, protesting from lack of being fed. Danny and Harry had spent most of their time at Tom's house too, only really going home to sleep; not that this was too out of the ordinary for them. Most of their time was spent in the living room, Dougie huddled under a blanket, surrounded by his friends, feeling more alone than he knew to be possible around so many people he loved. They drank tea and watched old movies to pass the time, sometimes Danny and Tom got their guitars out, but Dougie stayed mostly silent. If anything, he had retreated into himself further. He friends were at a loss. They tried to get him to speak, about That Night, or about anything, anything to hear his voice how it used to sound. Whenever Dougie spoke now, he sounded different, wrong, not their Dougie. He sounded like a child who had been aged prematurely, in a body he didn't know what to do with, older than his years, yet younger at the same time, a lost boy.<p>

Early in the morning after another restless night's lack of sleep, Dougie stood, half leaning, against the glass wall of the shower in the bathroom on the first floor, helped up the stairs by Tom. A set of clothes had been set out on the other side of the bathroom, grey tracksuit bottoms and a very old Blink 182 t-shirt – house clothes – and a blue towel was folded for him on the heated towel rail. Pulling his t-shirt off from over his head, (with considerable difficulty, although he had refused to let anyone help him to shower or dress, mostly out of pride, but partly from embarrassment) Dougie leaned forward and turned the water on. The shower head spluttered to life, spurting out freezing water as Dougie tried to get out of its way before it warmed up, wincing as the icy water hit the broken skin on his stomach. Gradually, as the water heated up, Dougie eased himself into the shower, the water pouring over his face and down his body. It got past the point of being a comfortable temperature, to one that scolded him, leaving his skin red where it touched it, stinging, but at just the hottest temperature his skin could stand.

He stayed for a while, under the too-hot water, having time to be in his head, alone. Moments of clarity hit him, most only to be knocked away by depressive and cloudy reservations. What was he doing? Why was this happening? Why on Earth couldn't he just forget about it? It was one night, a mere few hours of his life, how could it possibly be disturbing him this much? He tried to focus, tried to analyse the situation he had found himself in, and yet with every attempt to rationalise came an equal and opposite counter. He was stupid for letting it happen. He was now being a burden to his friends. He was useless, weak, pathetic, even more so for letting it affect him like he was. Round and round in circles his mind went, at a hundred miles per hour, running round and round, futile, like a dog chasing a tail it had already caught. And yet he couldn't break out of it, it was to strong for him to make a gap, to find his way out. So he just stood, thinking, letting the hot water fall and momentarily scold his already-sore skin, the bathroom filling up fast with steam. Leaning to the side, against the glass walls of the shower cubicle, almost without even realising, Dougie lowered himself onto the floor into a sitting position, hugging his knees to his chest, his back half against the wall, directly in the centre stream of water, sobbing silently, the tears on his face cooler than the water surrounding them.

He felt nothing but weak and stupid as he sat, painfully aware of how pathetic he would look to anyone who would have seen him. But there was no one, for the first time in a while, no one to feel ashamed around for giving into his emotions. His tears weren't even sad, it amazed him how many different sorts of crying he'd discovered since That Night. This was one he had not felt before, so full of anger, with nowhere for it to go. There was no one to be angry at, at least no one tangible. Except himself, of course, for letting everything happen. But he knew that wasn't all of it, as much as it found it hard to admit, what happened That Night was not all his fault. The people who attacked him, surely at least some of this must be their fault, he thought. Surely, surely it could not have just been him, it must be them too.

In that moment, Dougie wished he could see them, make them feel how he felt. All the confusion running through his mind about why him and why then, and the pain he felt, and useless feelings of uselessness that plagued everything he did. Dougie leaned up and turned the water off. He was done wallowing, it wasn't getting anything done. It was pathetic, stupid. Gradually, he hauled himself up from the shower floor, not caring about the pain it was causing him anymore, allowing himself to feel it so that he could focus on something other than all the jumbled half-thoughts inside his head. He walked over to the towel rail, taking the towel left out for him and wrapping it around his waist, ignoring the pains shooting through his ankle. He stood, hair dripping from the shower, leaning against the sink, staring into the steamed-up reflection of himself in the mirror.

Why him? Why now? Why when everything else was going to shit did this have to happen too? His mind drifted to his ex, to how beautiful she was, to how happy they were together, all the way through to the day less than a month ago. The day when she, out of the blue, told him she was wasting her time with him, that he was a waste of space, that all he ever did was let her down, that he didn't have any time for her because he spent too much time working with the band. At first, he had just been shocked at the speed as which they had gone from perfectly in love, to no longer part of each other's lives. Then that shifted to the depression he was still feeling, when he just moped around, getting on with things as best he could, trying to get over it, trying to go out and see his friends and remember how he used to be before he's ever even met her. And now, with everything that was happening, he felt the beginnings of anger rising inside him. How could she do this? How could she not be here when he needed her? He loved his bandmates, they were the best friends he could ever have had in the world, but they didn't get it. Tom had been with Gio since practically before the beginning of time itself, and Harry and Danny were happy going from one girl to the next without anything lasting. But Dougie wasn't. He had had something with her, something he thought was real, and now it was gone.

Staring up into the clouded mirror, he saw himself staring back, the gashes on his head now only just beginning to heal, scabbing over red and yellow. The bruising on his cheeks was well and truly purple, a proper black eye sitting above, a rainbow of injuries. And he saw his eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep, and, to his disgust, still overflowing with tears. How had he been crying this whole time without realizing? What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just be normal? Like Tom, or Danny, or Harry, they'd be able to deal with this if it were happening to them. Why did he have to be so weak?

Before he could stop himself, almost before he was even aware of what was going on, Dougie felt himself lift up his right arm from the sink he was leaning against, and steadying himself with his left arm, he felt himself shove his fist into the reflection of his face. For a moment, only for a moment, it was like he wasn't him. He wasn't real, he was floating above the world, watching everything else happen. He watched the mirror shatter, spraying shards of glass out into the room, He watched himself pull back his now bloodied fist, staring at it, at the shards of glass that stuck out at odd angles, piercing the skin, blood spurting out. He watched as he stared at it, going to pull the shards out, noticing the one jammed into his wrist.

"Dougie? What happened?" Dougie heard Tom's voice coming from outside the door as he hammered on it, "Dougie? Are you okay?"

Dougie opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to say what he had done, he hadn't even realised he was doing it. No, everything was most definitely not okay.

"Dougie? What happened?" Tom shouted again, pitch getting higher as his panic rose, "Dougie? Say something!"

"Err, um… Tom… uh," Dougie stuttered, trying to piece together the events of the last few minutes.

"I'm coming in, okay?" Tom's voice came again, "If you don't say anything I'm going to come in."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Tom was going to see. He's going to see his mirror broken, Dougie thought, why the fuck did I have to break his mirror? He looked down at his hand, blood was dripping into the sink and onto the floor. His left hand hovered above, poking at the shards of glass sticking out, contemplating whether or not it would be a good idea to pull them out of his skin.

"Dougie? Oh my god, Dougie! What have the hell have you done?" Tom shouted, his voice cracking, as he threw open the unlocked door and raced towards Dougie, seeing his friend's look of shock, and the shattered glass, and the blood drops covering the white tiled floor.

Dougie started to shake violently, the realisation of what had happened hitting him, "I, uh, I don't know. Uh, I, uh, I zoned out a bit, a-a-a-and, uh, and then, oh god, and then – " Dougie stuttered words out, his eyes darting from the space the mirror had been, to his hand, to the blood on the floor, to Tom's worried face, to the shards of glass in the sink.

Side-stepping the glass with his bare feet, Tom got to Dougie's side, wanting to get a better look in order to asses the damage Dougie had done to himself. Gently, Tom took Dougie's hand in his own, careful so as not to press any glass in further.

"Holy shit, dude," Tom said, as he saw the piece of glass justting out of Dougie's wrist. It was over a centimetre in width, sticking out about three centimetres, blood pouring out the edges. From what Tom could tell, it was where most of the blood on the floor had come from, it was by far the deepest would. Tom went to touch the glass, stopping just before he did. Should he take it out? What if the glass was like, blocking the puncture or something? He grabbed Dougie's sweatpants and helped him put them on, and helped put the t-shirt over Dougie's head, Dougie mostly unresponsive to what was going on around him.

"Come on, dude, it's alright, we, er," He paused, remembering Dougie's fear of hospitals, "Well, er, we need to get you to A&E."

Tom watched as Dougie's face turned white. Well, whiter than it already was it least, he'd looked like the blood had left his face the whole time Tom had been in the bathroom.

"N-n-n-no, it's fine, look, fine," Dougie stuttered, shaking even more, going to pick the shards out of his skin.

"Dude, stop!" Tom shouted, grabbing Dougie's good hand. He ushered him out of the bathroom, his hair still wet from the shower, soaking the top of his t-shirt and leaving puddles of water dropped next to the blood.

"GIO!" Tom shouted,

"What?" She replied, running up the stairs. She caught sight of Dougie, being helped to walk by Tom, dripping blood over the cream coloured carpet.

"Oh my gosh," She said, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"We're, um, going to A&E," Tom said, quietly, trying not to alarm Dougie again. He was on edge, even more so than usual (or what had now become usual), and almost completely retreated into his shell.

Giovanna nodded, "Yeah, yeah of course, I'll, um, you go, now, quickly, I'll get the guys and we'll meet you there."

Tom carried on helping Dougie along until the reached the bottom of the stairs, Gio close behind, phone in hand as she dialled Danny's number. Tom grabbed a coat from the doorway and put it round Dougie's shoulders, before putting on his own and taking the car keys.

"Give me a call when you're on you're way, Gio!" Tom shouted through the front door before he closed it behind them.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked the chapter! I was trying to give a little insight into Dougie's mental state. Again, please let me know what you think. I should have chapter 6 ready in a few days.<br>Also, just to say, the girl Dougie is talking about is not meant to be Frankie, she's fictional. Although I don't think she's going to pop up anywhere, or that there are going to be any more details about her, so if you'd rather she was Frankie then feel free to go ahead and pretend she is! That goes for most details, actually. This is set a couple of years ago, but unless I write otherwise then just assume it bears no relation to events that actually happened at that time!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello! Here's chapter 6, I hope you all like it! Thank-you so much to everyone reading and reviewing so far. As always, please let me know what you think, your lovely reviews really mean a lot to me :).  
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><p>Tom sat alone in the waiting room of the hospital, doing exactly what the name of the room would suggest: waiting. Waiting for Dougie, waiting for the others to arrive, waiting for some sort of clarity, and waiting for answers. The room was blank, a little grimy in the corners, dingy and grey; not the best sort of hospital to bring someone with a a phobia of them, but there was little that could be done about that. Greenwood General Hospital was the closest A&amp;E, and that was what was needed today, somewhere for Dougie to get his hand stitched up, fast. The doctors had been able to see him quickly, given that his emergency was somewhat urgent. Almost as soon as Tom had filled out his forms for him, he had been rushed into a room to see a doctor and have the injury treated. Tom had wanted to go in with him, but the doctor had said it would be best for him to wait outside. Not that the doctor knew what was best in this case, Tom thought, the doctor didn't know Dougie like he did.<p>

He looked up as he heard the automatic doors pull open, and looked back down at his hands again as soon as he saw a woman holding the hand of a little girl in a pink raincoat with pigtails walk through. How was Gio taking so long? Doug had been in with the doctor for a little while already, and they hadn't left that long after Tom had. Twiddling his thumbs, waiting, wasting time that could be spent actually doing something to help Dougie, was all Tom thought he was doing here. But what could he do? How do you help someone when they won't tell you what's wrong? How do you help someone whose own mind won't let them be helped? When he saw Dougie standing there in the bathroom, his hand full of blood and glass, Tom had just wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him, shake him until he woke up and could see what he was doing to himself. But of course he couldn't, it wouldn't do anything, anyway. Dougie was blinded by his own brain. Tom could see his friend's world collapsing around him, and was helpless to do anything about it. Not that that would stop him from trying.

Again Tom heard the sound of the doors opening, this time looking up to see Danny and Harry racing through them, Giovanna following close behind. They saw Tom sitting in the corner on one of the rows of blue plastic chairs and b-lined for him.

"Where's Doug? Is he okay? What happened? Why aren't you with him?" Their worried voices flew at Tom, pulling him back into the world.

Tom blinked a couple of times, staring at his friends. No, he had to snap out of it, this wasn't right, he had to look after them, and he couldn't do that if he was too busy freaking out internally.

"He's, um, he'll be fine, I think. He's with the doctor now, he needs a few stitches. They told me to wait here. But he's okay, I'm sure he's okay." Tom managed, trying to be as reassuring as possible.

Harry and Danny nodded, sitting down on matching plastic chairs facing Tom. Giovanna went to try and work the coffee machine in the far corner to get them drinks. They sat in a worried silence, pricking up their heads at the slightest sounds, to see if Dougie was on his way out of the doctor's office. Harry tapped his feet against the floor and hands against his knees as they sat, the faint taps being the only sounds emitting from their corner of the waiting room, them frozen in time as the rest of the room busied itself around them, running about their lives like a colony of ants, completely unaware of the bubble of shock that encased the three friends as they waited for their fourth.

Giovanna returned, clutching four small polystyrene cups of coffee, which she handed out, before taking a seat beside Tom, resting her hand on his knee.

"He'll be alright," She said, trying to reassure Tom, despite the fact that she was not certain in the least of what she was saying.

Tom just nodded in response, slight mumbles of agreement coming from Harry. Danny stayed silent, sat with his elbows pressed into his knees, resting his forehead in his hands, looking at his shoes. He didn't know what to think, or what to do, he wasn't good with things like this. Tom could fall into his role of looking after everyone, and Harry was always the best at listening to people's problems anyway, so where did that leave him? He wanted to be there to help Dougie through, more than anything, but maybe, he thought, maybe just being there was all that he could do this time.

"Mr Fletcher?"

They all looked up to a man, the younger end of middle aged, tall and thin with short brown hair and glasses, wearing all white, a stethoscope around his neck, and a name badge with his picture secured to the waistband of his scrubs, informing them that his name was Dr Anderson. Tom stood up.

"Yeah, that's me," He replied, not knowing what to say, but knowing he had to at least pretend for the others that he wasn't quite as terrified as he felt, "How's Dougie? Is everything alright? Can we take him home?"

"You're friend is fine. He's had 23 stitches. He was in shock, so we've had to give him a dose of Valium to calm him down. If you could come through to him with me, I need to have a quick word about a couple of things." Dr Anderson continued, his voice calm, but lacking any real expression. Tom guessed he was trying to be professional, but it just came across as cold.

Tom nodded and went to follow Dr Anderson, Giovanna giving his hand a quick squeeze of reassurance before he left. Dr Anderson led Tom across the waiting room, and through a door marked "Consultant Room 4". The room was small and bare, the same grimy white and blue colour scheme as the waiting room, a grey desk in one corner, with an ancient grey box of a computer perched on top of it, and a thin operating bed the other side of the room, covered in a layer of blue tissue paper. Dougie was perched on the end of the operating bed, a nurse dressed in green scrubs standing beside him, finishing securing the bandages around his hand. Dougie lulled, rocking slightly back and forth, his eyes looked mostly blank, with a hint of confusion around the edges, and like he was having trouble keeping them open. He didn't even look up when Tom entered the room, instead just staring into space, like he could see something that no one else could. Tom felt his heart ache when he saw his medicated friend sitting, so unaware of his surroundings, like a child once more.

"He's fine to go home. The Valium will may make him a little confused, we had to give him quite a large dose to get him calm. He'll be drowsy too, probably best to just get him to rest until it wears off. It acts as a bit of a painkiller, so he should be fine in that respect, but if he does complain of any pain or discomfort, give him a couple of standard Ibuprofen, not Paracetamol, he could do with the anti-inflammatory effects of the Ibuprofen. If you see any blood on the dressings, call us immediately, it could be that he split the stitches. If you have no trouble like that, then just come back in ten days for them to be removed." Dr Anderson said, in the same cold and clinical tone he used before. Tom nodded along, paying as much attention as he could he so much of his mind filled with pain and sadness for Dougie.

"Also," Dr Anderson continued, his voice dropping a little lower, the edges of concern creeping into his otherwise blank tone, "I understand your friend has been having some emotional troubles. I would like to recommend he meets with a therapist. We have a mental health department here, if you would like a referral, or if you'd rather sort something out in the private sector, that's up to you."

Tom just blinked, nodding. He felt so out of his depth, but Dougie had insisted Tom be put down as his Next of Kin on the form he had filled out earlier that day.

"Uh, yes, absolutely. I, um, I think we'll sort that out ourselves. Thank-you." Tom stumbled out, as politely as he could. Maybe Dr Anderson was right, Tom thought, maybe therapy would be a good idea for Dougie. If he wasn't going to talk to them, maybe a therapist would be able to get him to talk. But the last thing Dougie would want would be to have to come to a hospital once a week to see one, especially not this dingy one. No, Tom thought, they'd go home and have a look online for someone, preferably someone working from home, or a small clinic, somewhere that Dougie wouldn't near have a panic attack at the mere thought of going inside.

The nurse helped Dougie up, and handed him to Tom. His ankle had been bandaged up, too, for the sprain, though he was walking on it due to the effects of the anti-anxiety medication he had been given. They left the consulting room, Tom trying to keep Dougie walking in a straight line, Dougie's arm draped over Tom as he dragged his feet along. He was vaguely aware of his surroundings. He knew he was in a hospital, he knew he was uncomfortable here, but somehow, he found it impossible to panic. In place of the panic was nothing, a vast expanse of open nothingness to wade through, so deep than anything the tried to cross it would drown trying to reach a place that made any sense.

"You okay now, dude?" Tom asked softly.

Tom wasn't certain, but he thought he saw Dougie's head nod. There was no verbal response, so Tom took the tiny acknowledgement that he had spoken as a response for the time being.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked the chapter, sorry if it was a little bit boring, I was trying to make the medicaldoctor-y stuff as accurate as possible. Please review :D.**

**Next chapter will be coming soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! Here's chapter 7, I hope you like it :). Thank-you to everyone who has been reading so far, and thank-you so much for the reviews!**

**Also, I just wanted to say to those of you who have been complimenting the way write, I can't tell you how happy that makes me to hear. I love writing, but I don't have much confidence in it, so I hardly ever show people what I write. This has done wonders for my self-esteem! **

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><p>Harry and Danny sat in the living room of Tom's house. Tom had managed to coax Dougie upstairs to the spare bedroom, taking advantage of his medicated calm and pain-free ankle to get him into a real bed for the first time in a while, thinking it may help him relax when he woke up. He had passed out almost as soon as his head had fallen onto the puffed-up, blue-trimmed pillows. In a way, Tom was relieved that Dougie was at least getting some sleep, even if it was medicated sleep. Tom filled up a pint glass with water from the kitchen and placed it on the whitewashed wooden bedside cabinet, along with the upstairs landline phone, and a little note telling Dougie which buttons to press to work the intercom to the living room (he never could remember how it worked), so that he wouldn't have to shout for them if he woke up, and pulled the covers up to Dougie's chest. Giovanna stayed up on the top floor anyway, in the study two doors down from the spare room, in case Dougie needed anything, doing work and giving the boys some time alone to discus the problem to hand.<p>

Tom rejoined Harry and Danny in the living room, Danny handing him a mug of tea as Tom sat down next to him on the sofa. Harry was sitting just opposite them, still tapping his legs against the floor and his hands against his knees in quick repetitions. Tom wondered for a moment if this nervous habit was common amongst drummers, or whether it was specific to Harry, while gingerly sipping on his slightly-too-hot-to-drink tea, trying to avoid the conversation he knew they were about to have.

"So, the doctor recommended a shrink?" Danny asked, deciding the conversation probably needed to commence in order for it to, at some point, be finished.

Tom nodded, "Yeah, well, a therapist, not a psychiatrist or anything. Just someone for him to talk to while, y'know," Tom fidgeted with his hands as he spoke, trying his hardest to keep his voice sounding strong.

"While he won't talk to us," Harry concluded, his tapping temporarily ceasing as he spoke.

"Yeah. He said they have a mental health unit there, but Dougie would hate that, we'd have to drag him kicking and screaming through the doors, and I don't think that tends to end too well in psych units!" Tom said, trying to make light of the situation for the sake of his friends.

"Then what do we do?" Danny asked. He wished he could be more useful, he felt like he was just saying the things too stupid or too obvious for anyone else to point out, but he said them anyway, because sounding like an idiot was better than the alternative of silence.

"We find him a therapist, one who works from home, or something. We have a look online. Or there are those big clinics, I guess, but I don't think Dougs would like that much either," Tom replied, slightly amazed at how much he seemed to know of what to do in situations through intuition and common sense, "I'll go get my laptop and we can make some calls," He finished, placing his mug on the table and standing up to retrieve his laptop from where he seemed to remember leaving it in the kitchen.

A few moments later, Tom returned, shiny white Macbook tucked under one arm, and the landline phone gripped in the other hand. He unravelled the laptop charger and plugged it into the nearest socket, before taking his seat back on the sofa and starting Google-ing, Danny leaning in to get a look at the screen. Harry stood up from his chair and made his way round to the sofa, perching on the arm of it the other side of Tom, so that he too could see the screen.

"What on Earth do I even type?" Tom asked, regretting it instantly, for the first time since That Night openly expressing that he was not quite as together as he was trying to be, "Sorry," He added, softly.

"Ey, that's alright, mate, you don't always have to know what to do, y'know," Danny said, realising what Tom was apologising for.

"Yeah, it's okay, none of us have ever had to think about this before," Harry added, placing a hand on the top of Tom's back, near his shoulder blades.

Tom smiled up at his friends, glad that they were understanding of his slip-up, but vowing to himself to be more careful in the future. As much as they would never admit it to his face, Tom knew that Danny and Harry were relying on him to know what to do. It had always been that way, like back when they'd all lived together, back when they were still kids, and no-one knew how to fix the washing machine when it broke, and the first time they'd did an interview for TV, and when Dougie's lizard died, and when Danny broke his leg, and when some newspaper printed some stupid made-up story about Harry, and when things weren't going well with the record label. Even now he'd still get phone calls from Danny asking him which setting he needed to put the oven on and things like that. Everything that happened to his friends was his responsibility. He didn't mind, he knew what he was getting into from the start, being the oldest in the band, having been working in music and living away from home for the longest, he'd looked after everyone, made sure things got done and that everyone was okay. He'd carried on, even after they'd all grown up. But for everything to be okay if they weren't, Tom needed to know what to do to fix them. This time, though, it wasn't so easy. How do you fix a person? Was Dougie even broken? Could you even fix something that wasn't broken? Tom couldn't stop thinking, as the semantics flew round in his mind. He forced himself not to think about it, to focus on making Dougie better, and focus at the task in hand, finding him a therapist.

They typed search after search into Google, gradually learning the language used in the therapist descriptions, learning what letters they should have after there name in order to be official, leaning the different kinds of therapists. Psychotherapists, and cognitive behavial therapists, and art therapists, and long term solutions and short term fixes. The sifted through, trying to find the one that looked like it could help Dougie, trying to find something that they understood. They made a few phone calls, but nothing seemed right. They all either worked in hospitals, or sounded wrong or patronising, or they were sorry but they didn't think they would be appropriate for this situation.

"How 'bout this one," Tom said, his eyes glancing at yet another list of therapists in the North London area, " 'Julia Rosenberg, UKCP accredited psychotherapist, based at home practice in Belsize Park, specialises in treating depression and anxiety disorders in young adults, and post trauma treatment.'" He read, "She seems to have pretty good reviews, and," He copied and pasted her name into a new tab into Google, "Yeah, she seems legitimate, here's her website, she's on a few others too, seems to be quite highly regarded."

"Sounds good, do you want to speak to her?" Harry asked. Tom was the best at that, he thought, he would know what to say, where as Harry knew he'd end up missing out something vital.

Tom sighed, "Sure, pass the phone?"

Danny handed him the phone from down the side of the couch, and Tom stared at the screen before he punched in the number. He stood up, placing the laptop back down onto the place he had been sitting, and walked over to the other side of the room as the phone rang, pacing back and forth past the coffee table, like he always did when he was on the phone.

"Uh, yes, hello, is that Julia Rosenberg?" Danny and Harry heard Tom ask, suddenly stopping in his tracks as the phone was answered.

"_Yes it is, how can I help?" _ A mildly high pitched but soothing voice, with an ever so slight hint of a Mancunian accent, came through the phone into Tom's ears.

"Oh, hi, I, um, my name is Tom Fletcher, I found you on the London Therapy Directory website, I'm actually calling on behalf of a friend of mine, uh, Dougie. He's been having a bit of a hard time lately, and a doctor recommended he try therapy." Tom said, finding his composure about half way through. They must have phoned at least a dozen different practises today, and still Tom could not get used to what he was saying, the words refused to fit right in his mouth.

"_Could you tell me a little about the nature of your friend's problems, please, Tom?" _She asked.

Tom sighed, "Yeah, um, he had a kinda difficult break-up last month, and he hasn't been dealing with it particularly well, he won't talk to anyone about it though, really. And then, a few days ago, he got attacked, and it's sort of, I don't know, set him off a bit. He's distant, and he says he keeps zoning out, he punched a mirror yesterday when he zoned out. I, um, I don't really know what else to say," Tom said. He wondered if he should play down Dougie's problems, but thought seeing as it was the point of the therapist to work on them, that was probably one place that it wasn't necessary.

"_Okay, and what age is your friend, if you don't mind me asking," _Julie Rosenberg continued. She sounded nice, Tom thought, sort of motherly, but not overly.

"He's twenty-three." Tom replied.

"_Alright then, Tom, I can book an appointment for a preliminary consultation for your friend, if you want? So we can see if we'd be able to work together. My rates are £60 per fifty minute session, plus a £30 preliminary consultation charge. How is tomorrow at 5:30pm?" _

Well then, Tom thought, that was that. It looked like it would be Julie Rosenberg, "Um, yeah, that's fine. We'll see you tomorrow then. Thank-you," Tom said, still slightly bemused. The phone line went dead, and Tom turned to Danny and Harry, sitting on the sofa.

"That went well them, eh?" Danny said, pleased that they seemed to have made some progress.

"Yeah, she sounded nice, I think, I hope, Doug'll like her. It's just a consultation so far, mind. And Doug hasn't even agreed. Tomorrow at 5:30 though." Tom relayed the information as his friends nodded.

At that moment, Giovanna walked in, looking slightly frazzled. Her face seemed to calm down immediately when she saw Tom standing there.

"Hey, sweetie. What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, Doug's awake, he's asking after you. He tried to call on the intercom but the phone was engaged, so I said I'd come get you for him." She explained.

Tom took off for the stairs, the others close behind. Right, so he was going to have to tell Dougie about the therapist he had organised. Well, maybe not now, not if the Valium hadn't worn off, it had only been about four or five hours, how long was it meant to last? But what if it had? And what if Dougie didn't take the idea of help well? Not that Dougie would really have a choice in the matter. This time, his friends knew what was best for him, and he was just going to have to trust them.

They reached the spare room, Tom cracked the door open, the others deciding to wait for a little while, so as not to overcrowd a possibly still-confused Dougie. He peaked his head through the gap, to see Dougie propped up in the double bed against the white pillows with a blue trim, a pale blue and white pinstriped duvet covering his knees, his arms resting over the top of it. Tom glanced to Dougie's bandage, checking to make sure he hadn't bled through the stitches. Dougie heard Tom enter the room and perked his head up.

"Tom," He croaked, his voice bleary from his medicated sleep.

"Hey, Dougs," Tom said, in the gentle tone he had now become accustomed to using, "You alright?"

Dougie nodded, "Yeah. I'm sorry Tom, I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what came over me. Please don't be mad at me, I'll pay to get you a new mirror, and –"

"Hey, hey, chill," Tom cut him off, perching on the edge of the bed and putting his hand onto Dougie's shoulder, "Chill out, dude. I don't care about the mirror. I care about you. I'm not angry at you. Well, I was a little angry, but not at you, only at how worried you made us all. Just, don't do anything like that again, okay?"

Dougie's lips twisted up into a half-smile, "Yeah, probably not the cleverest thing I've ever done." He joked, relaxing a little now he knew Tom wasn't angry with him.

Tom smiled, before inhaling deeply, "Look, mate, the doctor at A&E, he said it might be a good idea for you to speak to someone, like, a councillor or something. And we agree. We've had a look around, and made you a consultation appointment tomorrow afternoon. If you won't talk to us you need to talk to someone, and maybe it'll be easier for you to talk to someone who isn't us anyway, I don't know. Her name's Julie, it's just a consultation, if you don't like her we can find someone else. Just, you're going, okay?" Tom tried to sound firm, ignoring the fact that his voice was beginning to falter. God, he hated seeing Dougie like this. He hated that this was even something that had to think about, let alone actually deal with.

"I'm not crazy, Tom," Came Dougie's reply, his voice so small, so scared, so uncertain.

"No, no I know that, dude," Tom said, his voice so certain in contrast with Dougie's that it shocked even himself a little, "You just need a bit of help right now. You won't be like this forever. It'll get better, Dougs, it always gets better eventually."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, and please review, as I keep saying, it means so much to me to have people telling me what they think of the story!<br>****Chapter 8 should be up soon. I've been writing loads lately because I'm procrastinating doing work for uni, but I have a project due in a few days (eeek), so I really should focus on that!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! So, you know that uni work I mentioned that I had to do yesterday? I got some extra time for that.. which I used very wisely, by writing some more of this haha! Seriously, the speed I seem to be writing this at feels like I'm doing NaNoWriMo all over again!**

**As always, thank-you so much for the reviews, they have been lovely, please keep them coming! Hope you like the chapter, let me know!**

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><p>Dougie sat in the passenger's seat of Tom's electric blue Mini, Tom sat beside him, parked outside house number 37 Acacia Avenue. It was an average looking, middle-class, suburban road, lined in semi-detached, red-brick houses with old-fashioned looking, rusted-black iron gates leading to front gardens on the way to the front doors, each one along the road a different shade of blue or green or black or red. They listened to the dull hum of the engine that was still running, so that the heat could keep on being blasted through the car while they waited. Dougie looked at the clock on the car radio, 5:24pm. They had arrived a little early. It was nearly time to go in, and Dougie could feel his heart racing as a sort of panic began to set in. He didn't know what he was afraid of, it wasn't that he was worried about not liking her, or her not liking him, it was almost more a fear that things would go well, that he would have to talk, finally, to someone, after spending so long perfecting the art of staying silent about anything serious. Tom looked over at his friend's anxious face, and saw his hands twitching.<p>

"Don't worry, Dougs, I'm sure there's no need to be nervous. Remember, if you don't like her, or if it doesn't go well, we can just find someone else," Tom tried to reassure him, patting him gently on the shoulder as he did.

Dougie nodded, "Yeah, yeah I know. It's just, I don't know if therapy is such a good idea, is all," Dougie nearly whispered, speaking making him feel sick with nerves.

"Well, you need to talk to someone, Dougs," Tom replied. He'd realised he had to be firm with Dougie, but it felt so wrong to be telling his friend what to do, even if it was for his own good. He was worried that by looking after him, that he would accidently push Dougie away, have Dougie see him as a guardian rather than a friend. Tom hoped it would never have to come to that, "Just give it a go, okay? For me."

"Okay," Dougie said, slowly, thinking about what his friend was saying. He didn't want to worry Tom, he wanted everything to be like normal again, "Okay, for you."

A smile crept onto Tom's lips at his friend's compliance, thinking it was probably a step in the right direction, "Come on, you should go in. Want me to walk with you?"

"Um, yeah, please, if that's okay." Dougie replied, fidgeting with the car door nervously, trying to delay having to go speak to this woman he'd never met before and only knew her name. As odd as it sounded, it felt weird to Dougie that this was something he had to do on his own. He was so used to his life being so intrinsically intertwined with those of his three best friends, and to now have this, someone for him and only him to talk to, outside of that circle, it felt wrong, somehow.

Stepping out of the car, they made their way across the road to the green front door of house number 37, Tom clicking the car locked over his shoulder. There was no indication that 37 Acacia Avenue was anything other than just the semi-detached home of some fairly well-off family like the rest of the houses along the road seemed to be. No sign, no plaque declaring it to be the offices of Psychotherapist Julia Rosenberg, UKCP Accredited, or anything like that. Just a waist-height black iron gate, that was unlocked and ajar, a slightly over-grown, small front garden, mostly dry, dusty and dying due to the cold winter, and a blue, orange and white mosaic patterned walkway to the dark green front door, with the number 37 affixed to it. There was a doorbell to the side of the door.

"You ready, dude?" Tom asked, trying to be supportive for his friend.

Dougie nodded, "I guess," He replied, so quietly it was as though he had barely opened his mouth. Dougie's stomach felt like it was gripping in on itself and twisting up into barbed wire knots, and though he was glad to have Tom with him, speaking seemed to make the knots bind tighter.

Tom reached up and pressed to doorbell as they stood on the front porch, waiting. Dougie looked through the window on the dark green door, looking out for any sign of movement. It was dark, the lights were off, and all he could see was a reflection of himself, and Tom, and the front garden, and the other side of the road. He heard the faint sound of high heeled shoes clacking their way down stairs, before the darkness inside the window changed to a yellow-orange glow as the light was turned on. The glass of the door was warped, so Dougie could not see anything clearly, other than what looked vaguely like a flight of stairs on the right, and what appeared to be a human figure making their way towards the door.

The door was pulled open and the room snapped into focus. Wooden floorboards, a staircase as Dougie had thought, with a beige carpet running down them. The decor looked vaguely modern, yet homely, a vase of dried roses sat below a mirror to the left in the entrance hall. Dougie looked up to see who answered the door, seeing a woman, around middle aged, middle build and middle height, with blonde hair, the dull kind of blonde that older women have sometimes, dry and textured, like if hair had been sandpapered. She had a blunt fringe, and was wearing a reddish-purple shade of lipstick, that matched her calf-length skirt, and a burgundy v-necked top that was probably slightly too low-cut for someone of her age and profession. Dougie noticed she was wearing brown high heeled shoes, identifying them as the cause of the clacking sound he had heard.

"Hello," She said to them, brightly, smiling quite broadly in a welcoming fashion, "You must be Tom," She looked over to Tom, holding out her hand which Tom shook, nodding, "And you're Dougie?"

Dougie nodded, and held out his good hand for her to shake. She seemed nice, he thought, friendly enough.

"Very nice to meet you, Dougie, I'm Julia. Okay, well, come in and we can get started," She said to him, before turning to Tom, "We'll be finished at around 6:20pm, I usually do a full session and consultation in one."

Tom nodded, "Alright," He replied, before turning to Dougie, "I'll be back then to get you, good luck," He smiled, patting his hand on Dougie's shoulder as he turned back towards his car. While they were fairly close to Tom's house, with the London afternoon traffic by the time he'd get home, Dougie would be nearly finished already, so he took out his phone, and looked up the nearest Starbucks that he could sit and wait in. He hoped Dougie would be okay, he'd looked so nervous, but Julia had seemed nice, professional, but not too stiff. Hopefully she would know what to do, how to make Dougie talk, how to get their old Dougie back again.

Dougie stepped into the house. It smelled like someone had been cooking lasagne, warm and welcoming. He looked around the landing. There was a door to the left, along with three steps leading down to another door with a panel of warped glass. To the right was the wooden stair case, leading up to another landing that Dougie could just about see had a grey carpet.

"We're up on the next floor, Dougie, if you'd like to go upstairs." Julia said to him.

Julia speaking to him instantly made Dougie feel more nervous than he had done a second ago. He made his way up the stairs, Julia following behind, holding onto the wooden banister as he went. His ankle had been gradually getting better, and he was just about able to walk on it now. Dougie listened to his footsteps as they climbed the stairs, becoming aware of the fact that one of his shoes was squeaking as he stepped, through the noise was mostly overshadowed by Julia's heels close behind him.

"Just through that door on your right," Julia's voice echoed as they reached the grey carpeted landing. The walls of the landing were lined with a wooden bookshelf, filled to the top with book after book, medical texts, psychology books, novels, children's books, all piled in together, in what looked like no particular order. Dougie wondered how she ever found what book she was looking for in her badly organised library of a landing. He walked through the door Julia had motioned towards, and stood inside it, taking in the room.

The floor was lined the same wood floorboards as downstairs, with a rug in the centre of the room, made up of squares of different shades of browns. A beige chaise longue was pushed up against a wall, scattered with white and brown cushions. Across from it was a brown leather armchair. A small wooden table sat to one side, with a box of tissues on it, and a tiny, abstract statue of what Dougie thought was a person. This room, too, was lined in bookshelves, wrapping round all the walls.

"Have a seat," Julia said, motioning Dougie towards the chaise longue as she took her seat on the leather chair.

Dougie slipped off his coat (he was getting better at making things that were incredibly painful for him look easier for the sake of not worrying his friends more so), and sat down nervously on the edge of the chaise longue, placing his coat down next to him. He rested his hands in his lap, the good one over the bandaged one as if to try and hide it, to try and pretend it hadn't happened. He knew he couldn't hide it, but he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't really want to talk about anything, it was too weird.

They sat in silence for a few moments. The most uncomfortable silence Dougie had ever experienced in his life. Why wasn't she saying anything? Had he done something wrong? She was just sitting there, her eyes staring at him, like she was trying to read something through the silence. As it continued, Dougie longed not to be too nervous to break it, he'd talk, he'd talk about That Night, he'd talk about the mirror, he'd bloody talk about anything to make the silence stop.

"So then, Dougie," Julia smiled at him, after what seemed like an age, "Why don't you start by telling me a little about yourself?"

Dougie furrowed his brows into a confused expression. It seemed like such a simple question, and yet he was completely thrown off.

"Uh, like what? What do you want to know?" Dougie said, not realising how quiet his voice would be until he heard it.

Julia just smiled at him, "That's up to you," She replied, in an upbeat sort of monotone.

What? What does she mean, that's up to me, Dougie thought. How can it be up to me? I don't know how therapy works, that's what she does every day, this is the first time I've been here. He stayed silent for a little while, trying to open his mouth to speak but having absolutely no idea what to say.

"I, uh, my name's Dougie, uh, I'm twenty-three, and I, uh, I play bass in a band," Dougie said, giving an introduction of himself akin to the opening of a Wikipedia entry.

"Professionally, in a band?" Julia asked, her tone of voice completely the same, lacking anything that sounded particularly human, the perpetual happy monotone ringing through the room.

Dougie smiled and nodded, "Yeah, we've had a few albums and things like that," Dougie didn't want to sound arrogant, but he wondered if Julia would know the band if he told her. He also wondered if she would even be interested, or if she would even tell him if she did know who he was.

Julia nodded and smiled again, "And what about friends, family?" She guided him.

"Um, well, there's the guys, uh, my bandmates. There's Tom, who you, uh, met, and then there's Harry and Danny. We all live in the same road, and we work together, so I see them pretty much all the time." Dougie said, not seeing how the guys were relevant, but feeling much more comfortable talking about them than he would do talking about himself.

Again, Julia nodded, "And family?" She probed.

Dougie paused, "There, um, my mum, I talk to her sometimes. She's busy a lot though. And I've got a little sister, I don't see her as often as I should." He prayed Julia wouldn't mention the part he left out.

"And your father?"

Shit.

"I, um, he, uh," Dougie paused for breath, "Is it okay if we don't talk about that now?" He asked.

"Sure," Julia smiled. The room went silent again, leaving Dougie inside his head.

Fuck. She's going to question the dad thing, isn't she, Dougie thought, panic building in his mind, unable to concentrate on anything else. Not that there was anything else in the room to concentrate on. But now, now Julia was going to think that it was relevant. It had nothing to do with this. It couldn't, that was years ago, he was over that. Or at the very least he didn't think about that any more. No, it couldn't possibly be relevant. Could it?

The time passed between awkward silences, during which Dougie had suspicions he was the only one who felt the awkwardness, and monotone questions about his day to day life, and Dougie studying the different shades of brown and beige on the chess-board of a carpet, making Tetris shapes out of the squares in his mind. To his relief, the entire session seemed to pass without her mentioning anything about the mirror, or That Night, and with just vague questions about how he was feeling.

"Well then," Julia said, pulling Dougie's mind away from the Tertis carpet, "We seem to have reached time."

Dougie nodded, looking up at the clock on the wall. The session had not been nearly half as bad as he had expected it to be.

"I'm happy to continue on if you are. I can schedule you in for the same time next week?" Julia asked, her voice just slipping out of the tone she had been using in the session. Dougie wondered why she didn't just talk normally all the time, but thought it must be some therapist thing he wouldn't understand.

And Dougie found himself agreeing, nodding, smiling, as she scribbled the session into her diary. Yes, it had been insanely awkward. No, he wasn't convinced that this was going to be helpful. Yes, therapy was, to say the least, a little weird. But Julia, despite that, despite her blank stare, and despite her eternally chirpy yet flat voice, and despite her probably having harder questions waiting for next time, there was something that Dougie felt was reassuring about her, though he couldn't quite work it out or put his finger on. At least it would keep Tom happy, he thought, as he followed Julia downstairs to the front door, where Tom would be waiting for him to go home. He could handle an uncomfortable half-conversation once a week if it kept his friends less worried about him, he could at least do that for them. And who knew, maybe therapy would help at some point. He'd try anything to get to being himself again.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked the chapter, please review! My chapters seem to be getting longer and longer, so I hope long chapters don't bother anyone.<br>Thanks again for the reviews so far, I know I keep saying this, but they really do mean so much to me.  
>Chapter 9 should be up tomorrow or the day after!<br>**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello! Here's chapter 9! As always thank-you so, so much for all the lovely reviews, it means so much to me, and they've really helped motivate me into writing and uploading so frequently :D.**

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><p>Dougie lay in bed awake, staring at the dome shaped lampshade hanging in the middle of the ceiling, a little light streaming through the edges of the closed curtains into the otherwise dark room. He had not been to sleep yet, and the sun had already risen. Truth be told, he was getting a little tired, but he was too agitated to sleep. Though his body was healing, it was still difficult to lie down comfortably in any position that wasn't flat on his back, and his bandaged hand always seemed to get in the way any time he shifted around. He cursed himself for being stupid enough to have hurt himself so badly, especially when he was still hurt from the attack. Gradually coming to the realisation that getting to sleep may have eluded him for the night, he started to push himself up from the bed, wincing as his stomach bent upwards and scraped against the fabric of the bed sheets, giving up for the night and go downstairs in search of a cup of tea and a change of scenery.<p>

He had stopped asking Tom to spend the night with him when he had moved off the sofa, though he wished he had kept on during nights like these, restless, boring, and stuck alone with just his thoughts for company. He couldn't stand being with his own mind for too long, he didn't trust himself not to break his promise to Tom, not to do something stupid again. How would he even know if he was if it happened like last time? The thought of blanking out like that again sent a chill of fear through Dougie's bones. He'd hated being so out of control, his mind working against him in a way he had never thought to be possible.

Making his way off of the bed, Dougie pulled on a pair of blue sweatpants and a faded grey t-shirt that had on it the logo for a skateboarding company that had long since gone out of business. He didn't feel the need to wear anything other than comfortable clothes around the house, he didn't have the energy to dress for going out. He caught a glance of himself in the whitewashed, wooden framed mirror hanging from the wall, seeing that though the cuts on his face were starting the heal, the bruising had just changed colour slightly to a slightly more yellow tinge. His chin was overgrown with stubble from a lack of shaving, his skin had taken on a slightly grey tone, and the underneath of his eyes were sagging halfway down his cheeks. He looked dishevelled, to say the least, but he couldn't find it within himself to care.

Clutching on to the banister with his non-bandaged hand, Dougie eased himself down the stairs. No one else was awake, and he wanted to be a quiet as possible to as not to wake anyone. With no one awake, it meant he didn't have to put on any facades, he could give into the pain shooting through his ankle and limp instead of walk, not having to worry about anyone seeing, not having to have his pride wounded more than it already was. Stair by stair Dougie went, dragging himself off of each one and down to the next. By the time he'd reached the ground floor, he almost wished he'd stayed in bed.

Dougie squinted his eyes as he flicked on the kitchen light, as they adjusted to the brightness so early in the morning. He looked over to the clock on the microwave, seeing that it was 6:49am. No one would be up for at least an hour, probably more. He took the kettle from the counter and filled it with water from the tap, before placing it back and clicking the switch on the side, watching the blue light come on and hearing it begin to boil. He took down the first mug he laid his hand on as he reached in the cupboard. It was white, and covered in red flowers, must be one of Gio's choices, he thought. The kettle bubbled louder, and Dougie went to the fridge, opening it and taking out the carton of milk. He took a tea bag, and 2 sugar cubes, and put them in the mug, just as the kettle clicked to say it was done boiling. He finished making his tea, and put the milk back in the fridge, which he stared into, trying to decide if he should eat or not, before closing it again, empty handed.

Taking his tea through to the living room, Dougie sat down on the sofa, pulling his feet up next to him, and taking down the blanket resting on the sofa arm to cover his legs. He contemplated trying to figure out how to turn the heating on, but didn't have the energy to get up. This was no good. He couldn't go on being like this, he thought. The guys were right, he would have to talk to someone eventually, be it them, or Julia, or someone else entirely, if he was ever going to start to feel better. He needed to stop wallowing in the quicksand of self-pity that was consuming him, but he couldn't. He'd tried to get out, he'd decided he was done, the other day in the shower, and now he was right back at square one, lower than square one. He was angry at himself for not being able to just deal with everything, and get on with his life, and at the same time he was scared of what things would be like if he tried to get over it. It was easy to stay where he was, it was easy to sink into depression, to not care if he ever got out of it, but it was also selfish. He couldn't do that, not to Tom, or Danny, or Harry. He couldn't let himself get so lost that he couldn't come back.

But the other option, to get better, to move past it. That was hard. He didn't even know where he'd begin with that one. Everything just looked so bleak. A picture of his life came into his head, a visual representation, in which he was standing on the edge of a cliff, not falling, not jumping, just standing, staring down, but physically unable to turn around and go back towards the land. He was stuck, stuck between living and existing, in a limbo of sorts, where no clouds had silver linings, and everything and everyone sank and drowned eventually, because no one could see to swim.

He couldn't take it any more, there was nothing he could do, he was fighting a losing battle against himself. Anything he tried to think of to make it go away, was battered down by thoughts of how he couldn't, how there was no point, thoughts of why bother, and of why can't I just waste away into nothing. Why? Just, why? Why anything? Why do people just carry on with their lives knowing they will never get the answers that they crave? How do they do it? How does anyone ever find their way back from the edge of the cliff he was teetering on? Did anyone ever find there way back?

Of course they did, he thought, you are not the first person and you are not the last person in the world to ever have felt like this. You are not special. Get over yourself. Dougie wanted to scream. To scream at his head to shut up, to scream so that he couldn't hear himself anymore. To scream until it blocked out everything and anything he felt. He didn't want to feel anymore. He didn't want to think, or to feel, or to be. He could barely even remember what he was like before, before he'd gotten so lost inside his own mind. He knew he wanted to be like that again, he knew he had been happy then, he just couldn't remember how he was or what it had felt like.

He sipped his tea, trying to calm himself down. On some level, he knew he was just being silly, melancholic, with little reason. Logically, everything should be brilliant. He had the best job in the world, he got to make music and see his friends all the time. And they were the best friends in the world, as well, the best job that he got to do with the best friends. He had no problems with money, he never had, and he'd even been able to sort his mum out of debt years ago. He had his own house in a nice neighbourhood. He had everything he needed and more. There were people in the world who had problems that far surpassed his, and yet he could not shift this feeling. It made him feel so conceited, he hated it, and it made him hate himself even more, more than he'd ever be able to tell anyone how much.

Spying the packet of cigarettes and lighter that he had left on the edge of the table, Dougie stood up. It was definitely time for a change of scenery again. He wished Tom would wake up soon, so that he didn't have to be stuck with his head too much longer. Dougie pulled himself up off the sofa, setting down the half-drunk mug of tea, exchanging it in his good hand for the cigarette packet. He made his way to the front door, opened it, and clicked the latch on, slipping on the pair of Vans trainers that he had left next to the door. He stepped outside, the fresh, cold morning air hitting him hard in the face. He did not bother to put a jacket on, thinking the cold would do a better job of waking him up without one.

He got out onto he front porch, the latch catching the door as he closed it behind him, careful not ho have it slam shut for fear of waking Tom or Gio up. He pulled a cigarette out of the packet, and tried to flick the lighter with his un-bandaged hand, while trying to shield the flame from the wind. He dragged on his lit cigarette, feeling the smoke scratch against the back of his throat as he inhaled. He liked feeling the smoke in his lungs this morning, it gave him something to distract him, something to focus on, while he stood, staring across the road.

For some reason, Dougie had no idea why, he felt the need to walk, some time to get away, to get a bit of space to breathe, just a quick stroll, if would do him good, wouldn't it? Just to get out of the house for a while. It'd give Tom some space too. As much as he was appreciative for all Tom had done for him recently, Dougie couldn't help but feel he was getting in Tom's way, that Tom needed some time away from him and his constant, incessant whining and moaning about how unfair everything was. He actually wondered how Tom could put up with him being like this for so long. Dougie felt his legs moving, forwards, one after the other, down the stairs, and turn down the road, the chill of the wind whipping against bare arms and face as he hauled his limping leg along, willing it to keep up with the non-sprained ankle. Walking made him feel a little better. Well, not the physical act of walking, no, that was near agony on his leg, though the cold did act as a bit of an ice-pack against it as he walked. No, being outside, having space around him, space to think outside of himself, a chance for him to take some time out.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked this chapter, please review! Next chapter should be up at some point over the weekend :D.<br>Also, please do let me know if this story starts to get boring, plotline doesn't seem to be my strongest point with writing!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello! Here's chapter 10, I hope you like it, please review to let me know. Thank-you as always to everyone reading and reviewing, it makes me so happy every time I read one of your lovely comments, keep them coming!**

**And Chloe, no I don't have a Beta, I just get really annoyed by spelling mistakes, so I proof-read each chapter a few times before I put them up. There are still a few typos I've noticed since uploading, but I think I'm the only one who's looking closely enough to see them!**

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><p>Tom woke up at 9:15am precisely, to the sound of the beeping alarm clock next to him. He hit it off, and rubbed his eyes, going to stand up, careful not to kick any of the three cats who were lying on the bed with him and Giovanna. He looked over to Giovanna, she was still sleeping, oblivious to the alarm clock. Tom didn't want to wake her, she looked so beautiful. He decided to go downstairs in search of caffeine, and to make pancakes to bring for Giovanna for breakfast. And possibly for Dougie too, wondering, only half seriously, if that would diminish any of the romantic gesture of making his girlfriend breakfast.<p>

Reaching the kitchen, Tom knew something wasn't right. He was certain he'd turned the light off last night, he always did. Maybe Dougie was already awake? Tom made his way through to the living room, seeing Dougie's half-full mug of now cold tea sitting on the coffee table. He picked it up and brought it back into the kitchen, emptying the remaining contents down the sink, and putting the mug in the dishwasher. Maybe Dougie couldn't sleep and made himself tea in the night? He could be back in bed, Tom thought. Starting to worry, Tom made his way back upstairs to the spare room to check. The light was off and the door was pulled to, only slightly ajar.

"Dougs?" Tom whispered through the crack in the door, knocking softly. When no reply came, he knocked slightly louder, in case Dougie was awake but hadn't heard. He didn't want to wake him up, but he also did not want to invade what little privacy Dougie had left by going in without knocking in case Dougie was awake. Upon realising he would probably have had an answer already if that was the case, Tom slowly pushed the door open, peaking his head round.

"Dougs?" Tom asked, a little louder this time. He walked over towards the bed, seeing the covers thrown off and the unmade bed empty. Tom made his way out of the room, across the landing, and over to the bathroom door. The door was open, the light was off, no one was in the bathroom. Tom felt himself beginning to panic. He tried to rationalise to himself that he did not know yet if Dougie was missing, that he could be in the house, somewhere, in another room, but it didn't help. Dougie was not thinking rationally, so why should he when trying to figure out what Dougs had done? Tom ran back downstairs, to check the living room again, noticing Dougie's shoes missing from the doorway.

"Shit," Tom muttered, walking over to the front door. Tom pulled it open, seeing it was on the latch, and stuck his head outside, the bitter cold wind gusting into the house as he did so. He saw nothing, nothing even the slightest bit out of the ordinary.

"Shit," Tom said again, getting louder as he began to panic more. He raced back up the stairs, bursting into his and Giovanna's bedroom.

"Gio? Gio! Wake up, please," Tom said, shaking her shoulder gently.

Giovanna stirred under the covers, opening her eyes slowly to see Tom's worried face above her.

"Tom? What is it? What's wrong?" She asked, almost instantly wide awake.

"Dougie, he's… I don't know, Gio, I don't know where he is, he… he's not in the house, a-a-a-and the front door was open, and his, his shoes were gone, oh god, Gio, where the hell has he gone?" Tom said, his panic and fear spilling out as he started to speak.

Giovanna sat up, rubbing her eyes, "Sweetie, you need to calm down," She said, softly, pulling Tom down to sit with her on the bed, holding his hand, "Have you called Harry and Dan? He might be at one of theirs."

Tom shook his head, "No, but why would he be? Why would he go out so early? Why wouldn't he leave a note?"

"Just call them before you panic, okay?" She said, taking the phone off her bedside cabinet and placing it in Tom's hand. Tom hit the numbers on auto-pilot, not entirely sure at he was dialling if he was calling Danny or Harry. The phone rang five times before it was answered, Tom growing more and more impatient with each tone.

"_Hello?" _Harry's voice came through the phone into Tom's ear.

"Harry! Hi, have you seen Dougie? Is he with you? He's not here, I don't know where he's gone." Tom's voice came out faster and higher pitched than he'd expected.

"_What? Slow down Tom. No, Dougie isn't here. Give me 5 minutes, I'll be right over."_ Harry replied, talking almost as fast as Tom, before the phone disconnected.

"Shit," Tom said, "Not at Harry's."

"Try Dan," Giovanna replied.

Tom did, dialling Danny's number, to have the exact same conversation he had shared with Harry, only with even more panic, if that was possible. Danny had also said he'd be right round. Tom felt himself start trembling. How the fuck had this happened? They'd lost Dougie. He'd lost Dougie. How the hell could he have been so stupid to leave him alone? He knew he wasn't safe on his own, he knew it. And yet he'd wanted to believe that his friend would be okay, that his friend was okay, that he'd left him, acting as if nothing had happened, acting as if he had no reason to believe Dougie was in any danger from his own actions. How could he have been so stupid? This was his responsibility, his only responsibility right now, to protect Dougie, to look after him, to keep him safe, and he'd fucking failed, and now Dougie was god knows where, alone, outside, with no phone, no keys, no jacket, and what Tom could only see as being a dangerous mindset.

It was too much. Everything was too much. But he had to be strong, he had to be responsible, he had to know what to do. He always had to know what to do, even now, even when he had no idea what to do, he had to, at the very least, pretend he knew what to do. He had to keep his head thinking straight, he couldn't let anyone see quite how much he was freaking out. He breathed deeply, trying to get his head back on track, trying to think straight, trying to focus. Blame and panic were not going to solve anything. They needed to find Dougie, to look everywhere and anywhere that he might be. He can't have gone far, not on that sprained ankle, Tom thought, as he tried to ease his mind.

The doorbell rang, pulling Tom out of his internal trepidation, for which he was grateful. He made his way out of the bedroom and downstairs to answer it, leaving Giovanna to get dressed. Once outside the bedroom, Tom tried to control his thoughts. He needed to stay strong, for the others. Someone needed to stay together, and for Tom, that needed to be him. He knew how the others would react, he knew they would need him to know what to do. So that is what he would do. He would know what to do, he would be confident in whatever decisions they made, and he would be beyond certain that they would find Dougie and bring him safely home, however uncertain of that fact he may really be.

Tom pulled open the front door, revealing both Harry and Danny on his doorstep. Both looked like that had only recently woken up, Danny's hair sticking out at funny angles from sleeping on it. Harry looked as though he had been crying, although he'd never admit it. His eyes were bloodshot and the skin around them was red, raw and still slightly damp. Tom held the door open as they came through, and they made their way into the kitchen, where Tom put a pot of coffee on to brew for them. They stood around the counter, none wanting to be the first to speak without having anything good to say, and at the same time not wanting the silence to continue any longer. Eventually, Tom could take it no longer.

"We will find him," He said, sounding about as unsure as he felt, in contrast with his so well assuredwords.

The other two nodded, not believing Tom anymore than he believed himself, but wanting to be able to. They wanted so much to believe that everything would be okay, that Dougie was alright, that this was all some misunderstanding and that he had just gone round the corner to the shops or something. But as much as they wanted to believe it, they knew it could not be true. They knew that left alone with his head too long, Dougie could be more a danger to himself than anything else, like that day with the mirror. They had to make sure nothing like that happened again, but to do that they needed to find Dougie.

"Right," Tom said, pouring three cups of coffee and handing them out "Where is he likely to have gone? He can't have gone far."

Harry shrugged, "God knows where he'd go, he's not himself, Tom," An overwhelming sense of fear and urgency strained through his voice.

"We need to be out looking for him," Danny said, quietly, "Standing round here's not going to do anything,"

Harry nodded in agreement, "Someone should wait here in case he does come back, though, Tom, you should stay. And then, Dan, do you want to walk around the area, see if he's anywhere local? And I can drive further out. He might have gotten on a bus or something," He said, taking charge of the situation. He couldn't just talk anymore, he needed to get out and do something, he didn't want to think of Dougie being out on his own any longer.

"What? Your plan is to just wonder round aimlessly?" Tom snapped, letting his stress and worry get to him, "Sorry," he added, realising now was not the time for aggression.

"It's alright," Harry replied, "But what other choice do we have? We have nothing else to go on, and the police won't do anything about someone who's only been missing a few hours."

"Yeah, I guess," Tom agreed begrudgingly, "Okay, go on, I'll wait here. Make sure you've got your phones, okay? Call me as soon as you find him, alright?" He couldn't stand the idea of being the only one of the three not doing anything, but he knew it was for the best. If Dougie did come to his senses and come home, and there was no one there, they would be right back where they started.

Finishing their coffee, Danny and Harry went to get their jackets, plus extra ones for Dougie, as his was still hanging up inside. They said their rather rushed goodbyes to Tom, promising to phone at the first sign of news, before making their way outside. They exchanged a worried, get hopeful glance, words of encouragement failing them both at a time when really they could use them. As Danny took off running towards the high street, Harry clambered into his car, regretting his decision to be the one to drive as tears started to form in his eyes again, clouding his vision. He blinked them away as he turned the engine on, trying to push thoughts of awful situations Dougie may be in to the back of his mind, and focus on finding him.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked the chapter, please let me know!<br>Chapter 11 will be up within a couple of days :D. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello! Here's chapter 11, hope you like it! Please review, I love knowing what you all think of this :D. And thank-you for all the reviews so far!**

**Also, just in case it is unclear, the lines are chapter breaks, for the split narrative in this chapter!**

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><p>Shivering, with the sound of his teeth chattering in the cold filling his head, Dougie felt his legs come to a stop. He had no idea where he was, or how long he had been walking for, but he could not go any further. Looking down, he saw his bandaged ankle considerably more swollen than it had been previously, the bandage now cutting into his skin. He lowered himself onto the floor against a wall, his leg poking out in front of him as he slipped off his shoe, and tried to loosen the bandage from cutting off the blood supply. This proved harder than he had thought, having only one fully functioning hand, that was only functioning to about half its normal capacity due to the almost anesthetic properties of the cold. He breathed into his hands, trying to defrost them, but to little avail, the warmth of his breath being little match to the fight put up by winter's air.<p>

Looking at his surroundings, Dougie tried to figure out where he was, and how he was going to get home. This would probably count as one of the stupid things Tom had made him promise not to do, he thought, guilt washing over him as his mind turned to his friends. While he did not know how long he had been walking for, he was certain it had been quite some time, and that Tom would have woken up to find him gone and the front door unlocked. He'd wished he'd thought to bring his phone out with him, so that he'd have been able to call them, but he had not been thinking right when he'd left. It was again like his body had been doing things he was aware of, but not fully in control of, making him go along with it by fading out his rational mind.

There was nothing in the area he could recognise. There was nothing in the area to recognise. Dougie sat, slumped against a brick wall that appeared to be of some sort of office block. Trees lined the road, suggesting to Dougie that he had probably walked in the opposite direction of Central London, meaning the likelihood of him being able to find a tube or bus route home were slim. The road was surrounded by concrete and brick block buildings, nothing distinguishable at all. There were hardly any cars parked on the road, and Dougie had not seen a single one drive down since he had been sat there. Realising that he was going to have to walk further in order to get anywhere, but lacking the necessary energy to do so, Dougie decided to rest for a while, pulling his knees to his chest, and wrapping his arms around them for warmth.

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><p>Tom sat on the sofa of his living room, Giovanna curled into his right hand side, waiting for news. Rested on Tom's knees were both the landline and his mobile phones, which he stared at, anxious for them to ring, anxious to hear anything, be it news or just vague updates, from the others. In a way, he didn't even mind whether the news he heard was positive or negative, as long as he heard something. Although obviously positive would be preferable. Tom raised his left hand to his mouth and began to chew on his thumbnail, a bad habit from childhood that periodically reoccurred at times of high stress. Giovanna sighed, also wishing that there was something they could be doing other than sitting around waiting, but not knowing what else could be done. The landline's piercing ring interrupted their silence, making Tom jump, before answering it as soon as he realised what was happening.<p>

"Hello? Have you found him yet?" Tom said, his voice frantic with all the worry that had been building up inside him.

"Hello," A robotic female voice came through the phone, "This is an urgent message about your Payment Protection Insur –"

"Fuck off!" Tom shouted at the recorded message, before hanging up the phone. Giovanna shot him a confused look.

"Recorded cold-caller message, blocking up the phone line," Tom explained, worried that in the time taken to answer the phone to listen to the "urgent" message, he had missed something that was actually urgent.

Tom rubbed his eyes, staring back down at the phone. It was driving him insane, not doing anything, but what could he do? Danny and Harry were out looking, and if by some miracle Dougie started thinking clearly for long enough to be able to get back, and Tom wasn't here for him… no, it was best he stayed put. His mind was filled with thoughts of Dougie, as it had been for the past week or so, filled of circular thoughts of how Dougie must be feeling, or what would make him feel better, or piecing together Dougie's potential thought patterns, which brought Tom close to tears. He hated this, he hated this more than he knew he could hate anything in the world, he hated seeing his friend so lost, so unlike himself, a shell of how he once was.

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><p>Danny made his was down yet another road, running against the gusts of wind blowing leaves and rubbish in mini tornados on the ground. At the end of the road, he slowed to a stop, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. The running, teamed with the fear of not finding Dougie, had made him out of breath and he was beginning to feel sick. Catching his breath and settling his stomach, Danny leaned his head back up again, feeling the back of his throat burn as he did so. He didn't know where he was running. He'd had a vague idea to circuit around the surrounding roads, and then to follow round the park that was nearby, but, looking around, he seemed to have deviated somewhat from that route.<p>

He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time, seeing that is was now nearly 4pm. He had been out searching for six hours already, and it was beginning to get dark. He had to find Dougie. They had to find Dougie. Along with the descending darkness, Danny felt the first signs of rain landing on him. Six hours searching round the local area, and nothing. Danny didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to go back to Tom's house and try something else, take his car out and see where Dougie could have gotten to. But what if he was somewhere round here that he missed? What if he was in the park somewhere? Thinking that this was probably the best idea he was going to have for the time being, and not wanting to leave any section of the surrounding area unturned in his search, Danny took off running again for the park.

As he ran, his mind wondered to what he would do if he did find Dougie. In a way, he'd almost rather that it was Harry rather than himself to find Dougie. He'd never been particularly good with words, or serious conversations, and he couldn't think of anything he could say to Dougie that didn't sound stupid going through his head as he thought of it. He didn't know what he'd do if Dougie had zoned out again, if he had to bring him back down to Earth. Danny shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts out of his brain, and instead fill it with as many positives as he could think up. He was doing everything he could do right now to find Dougie, one of them had to find him eventually, right?

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><p>Turning round yet another near-identical street corner, Harry switched his sidelights for headlights, it was now dark, and it was getting harder to see anything other than the road. His windscreen wipers swished from side to side, clearing the rain from his vision, which was also not helping his ability to see if Dougie was anywhere around. He was now so far away from where they lived that it seemed virtually impossible to Dougie to be, but he'd tried everywhere else he could think of. He'd driven to Central London, gone round every street he could get to, and nothing, no sign of his friend, so he had turned round and gone the other way, further out, further north, towards the edges of the train lines and the outskirts of their part of London. London was like that, little bubbles that you could know like the back of your hand, and then the great expanse of the unknown of all the rest of it. Someone could live there for their whole life and not know the vast majority of it. It was like looking for a needle in a very large, very busy, and very hostile haystack.<p>

As he thought about Dougie, tears began to prick at his eyes again. He turned the music on in the car to block out his thoughts. An old Brand New album came on, and Harry left the volume on low, loud enough to hear, to interrupt any thoughts he may be having, but not loud enough to actually pay attention to it. He wanted to be thinking of Dougie, to keep his mind on finding him, but pictures of Dougie alone, or hurt, or even dead kept flying into his head. Those were what he was trying to block out. He tried to think rationally, tried to think of how worrying would not get him any closer to his friend, but he couldn't. Eventually, when his tears were becoming too thick to see through with the darkness and the rain, Harry pulled over, parking on the side of an empty road. He didn't know where he was, he didn't recognise the area. Everywhere had started to look the same anyway.

Turning off the engine, Harry opened the car door to get some fresh air, swinging his legs round so he was now facing the open door, trying to snap him out of his crying and into action, into doing something. This was almost as bad as if he weren't doing anything, doing something that wasn't working. Every road he drove down, he was half expecting to see Dougie on, but wasn't surprised exactly when he didn't. He kept trying to will it to happen, to will Dougie into being where he was looking, but of course, he could not create a version of reality where this happened. Instead it was disappointing street after disappointing street. He took out a cigarette and lit it with the car lighter, the glowing red metal being able to withstand the wind that was blowing through the car's open door. He felt guilty for stopping, for taking a break from looking, but he had been driving practically round in circles for so long now without stopping, that he felt like keeping going would tip him over the verge of sanity.

And then, while smoking out the car door, Harry saw it. In the middle of the pavement, next to a brick wall, on a road surrounded by almost nothing noteworthy in the slightest, was a shoe. A black and white, slip on Vans trainer, to be exact. Harry took of towards the object, picking it up when he reached it. He held the sodden shoe in his hands, inspecting it, turning it round, trying to identify it. It was the same as Dougie's, but it could just be a coincidence. Same size too though. Harry tried to rationalise that a shoe was not concrete evidence, that loads of people must lose shoes in London daily, so that he wouldn't get his hopes up, but he could not. Dougie had been here, he must have. Harry took out his phone, and dialled Tom's number, holding it to his ear. At least it was some progress.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it! Please review, it means so much to me to know that people like this story :D. Next chapter will be coming soon.<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello! Here's chapter 12, sorry for not updating yesterday, I've been a bit busy and my writing's been going slower than usual. I'll probably be slowing down a little with updates for a while, though I should get one up every other day or so.  
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**As always, thank-you so much for all the reviews, they mean so much to me, and they make me want to write faster so I can update more for you all to read! Please keep them coming :D.**

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><p>Running down the street, Dougie stopped, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn't quite sure what it was he was running from. He'd heard something, a sudden noise, while he had been resting, and it had woken him up, though he hasn't even realised he'd been asleep until that point. It had been dark out when he woke up, and apparently raining, his thin t-shirt clinging to his trembling body. He found it hard to run through the shivering, but his fight or flight instincts had kicked in, with a definite emphasis on flight. In his startled state, he realised he'd forgotten a shoe from his bandaged ankle, making it even harder to run. What was he even running from? He bent over, trying to catch his breath, before lowering himself against a wall. He couldn't run any more; it was too cold, his ankle too swollen. He curled his body inwards to a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible, and keep as much shelter as he could from the growing storm.<p>

As he sat, shivering, he wondered how he was going to get home. How could he have been so stupid? All he seemed to do was make terrible decision after terrible decision, not learning from what had happened in the past. Why couldn't he hold onto his head for long enough to think things through rather than acting solely on impulse? He felt like he was losing his mind, only being able to keep track of fragments of it at any given time, the rest lost to oblivion. The rain seemed to be doing a good job of keeping him grounded though, his head not straying too far from where he was sat.

Unbeknownst to Dougie, just a few streets over, was the creator of the startling noise and now carrier of his missing shoe. Harry. A very worried, and growingly frantic Harry, to be more accurate. And his car, to be even more so. Harry stared at the shoe in his hands, not knowing what it meant or what he should do. He had spoken to Tom, whose hopes had been brought up no end by the news, although now, looking back, Harry couldn't see the shoe at much of a positive. Dougie's shoe was here, the shoe from his sprained ankle, but Dougie was not. Which meant that Dougie must have had gone somewhere, in the rain, down one shoe, or something worse. Harry pushed that to the back of his head, shuddering at the thought. Horrible images of Dougie kept creeping into his head, driving him sick with anxiety at how, and what in state, he would find him in. But he would find him, that Harry was determined of, however long it took, he would find him.

Deciding that proceeding on foot would probably be easier than taking the car, especially now he knew Dougie could be nearby, Harry began searching. Searching every doorway, behind every car, searching everywhere, just in case. He didn't want there to be any possibility that he had missed Dougie. The storm was getting worse, lightening flashed through the clouded, black sky, ripples of thunder filling the air as it did so, the rain now falling practically horizontally. Harry shivered as he pulled his already-soaked coat tighter round himself, trying to shield himself from the weather. Once he was certain that Dougie was not anywhere along the road anymore, even if he had been once, Harry rounded the corner onto the next one, which looked practically the same as the street he had just been on. The same block buildings, the same lack of cars, the same trees in neat little rows. Harry kept running, searching, all the way to the end of the road, checking everything as he went. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Could it really not have been Dougie's shoe? He felt hope draining from his thoughts; maybe they were really no closer to finding Dougie after all. But part of his brain wouldn't let him believe that. It clung, however futilely it may have been, to the hope and the unfounded knowledge that Dougie had to be nearby.

Road after road and it was all the same. Harry was losing hope, fearing the worst. Not that he knew what the worst was, his mind conjuring up new images of what it may be on a rotational basis, a slideshow of potential horrors filling his mind's eye as he searched. He felt fresh tears welling into his eyes at the idea of not being able to find Dougie tonight, of the idea of Dougie being outside and alone in the storm. Rounding corner after corner of identical road, all that was there was again nothing, nothing anywhere. He was beginning to fear that he too was losing his mind, attaching this much hope to a shoe. He wasn't sure how many of these roads he had been down, they were all starting to look the same, they'd all looked the same to start with. On the verge of giving up, Harry trudged down yet another road, wishing he had just gone back to the car to drive around instead. This would be the last one, he told himself, if Dougie wasn't there, he would drive on, further out in his search.

It was then that he saw it; of course it was, it was always then that anyone finds anything. It was like waiting for a bus, and lighting a cigarette, knowing as soon as it was lit that the bus would come. Along that road, the last one Harry would be looking on, the last one he would need to look on. At the far end of the road, curled into a ball, and shaking like a leaf, was him. He was there. Dougie.

Harry's eyes lit up as he raced down the road, faster than he knew he even had the ability to run. He saw the ball of a body unravel at the sudden noise of his legs pounding against the pavement, wide eyed and scared. Harry felt the pain he saw in Dougie's eyes, he wanted to make it go away. What had Dougie been running from? What had made him so frightened? Harry reached the trembling boy, leaning down to his level, as he had done That Night. It seemed so long ago to think of now.

"Doug? Doug are you okay?" Harry asked, softly, resting his hand on Dougie's shivering shoulder.

Dougie didn't respond, he just looked up at Harry, eyed pleading, through his eyelashes.

"Doug? What's wrong?" Harry's heart sank as he saw that Dougie seemed to be zoning out again. He rubbed Dougie's shoulder, the wet fabric squeaking against in his hand as he did so, trying to bring Dougie back down. How could this happen? How could someone be fine, and then so lost from reality? Harry wrapped his arms round his friend and pulled him into a hug, not knowing what to do, not knowing what he could do to make the situation better.

"Harry?" Dougie's voice whispered, small, questioningly.

"Yeah Doug, it's me, mate," Harry said, feeling tears well in his eyes at the happiness of finding Dougie.

"What… what happened?" Dougie asked, seeming more assured of his own voice with every syllable he spoke.

A small laugh escaped from Harry's lips, "Y'know, mate, I was about to ask you the same question."

Dougie began to cry. He didn't know why, he didn't know why anything was happening anymore. He knew he'd been running, but he didn't know what from, or for how long, or why he'd stopped, or why Harry was here, or how Harry was here. To be honest, he didn't really care about the last two, he was just happy someone was there at all, regardless of the hows or whys or whos of the situation. He nestled his head into Harry's chest, taking solace in his friend's arms. Dougie wanted to explain, to talk to Harry, to tell him how scared he was, and how he didn't know what was happening, about how he was questioning his own sanity, questioning whether it was broken beyond repair. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out, like he couldn't let himself speak them for fear of things becoming real of he were to. So he sat, encased within Harry's embrace, trying to hold on to his mind for long enough to force words into coherent sentences, out of his mouth and into the world.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! I hope you liked the chapter, please review to let me know! I really hope it wasn't boring, from the reviews I got on the last chapter it sounded like people thought I had some actual actionplot going on.. so sorry if this disappoints.**

**Also, if anyone had any ideas for me, or anything they'd like to see happen in this story, then please, please let me know. I've only got ideas for the next couple of chapters, so any input would be fantastic. (Unless, of course, you want to read six chapters worth of internal monologue while someone makes a cup of tea, 'cause that's what tends to happen when I don't really try and stick some plot in!)**

**Next chapter coming in a couple of days (if not sooner!). **


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello! I got this chapter written a little quicker than expected, so here it is, chapter 13! Thank-you so, so much to everyone reading this, and for all the reviews, it makes me so happy every time I read one :D. Hope you like the chapter, please let me know!**

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><p>Sitting down on the cold, wet pavement with his arm around Dougie, Harry sighed. He wanted to get back to the car, with it's hot air and heated seats, and get Dougie home, but before they could even start to get to the car, Dougie needed to calm down. He had been practically hyperventilating from sobbing, jerking out incomplete fragments of sentences, trying to explain how he couldn't explain what was happening. Harry just sat there, shushing and soothing, trying to get Dougie to remember how to breathe before he started talking. Eventually, Dougie's breathing slowed to a more manageable pace, one where air could remain in his lungs and oxygen could navigate his body before being expelled.<p>

"You alright there, mate?" Harry asked, rubbing his hand on Dougie's shoulder to reassure him.

Dougie nodded, "I… I think…. I think so," Dougie managed.

Harry smiled, although unconvinced by Dougie's words, trying his best to believe them.

"I best give Tom a call, he's been in a bit of a state," Harry said, taking out his phone and clicking dial on Tom's name.

"Oh god… I-I-I'm so…. Sorry," Dougie whimpered, loosing some of the control he had gained over his breathing with his growing guilt.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, sshh," Harry calmed, not wanting to set Dougie off crying again. It wasn't okay, not really. There was something wrong with Dougie, Harry thought, something really wrong. This was not a normal way to be acting, why was this happening? How was this happening? It wasn't right, nothing was right with him anymore.

Harry pressed the phone to his ear, it barely rang once before Tom answered.

"_Hello? Have you found him? Is he alright?"_ Tom's voice shot through the phone line into Harry's ear.

"Yeah mate, chill out, I've got Dougs. We might be a little while getting back though. But he's okay, don't worry," Harry said, knowing full well that Tom would still be worrying regardless of what he said.

"_Oh thank god. Okay, let me know if you're going to be ages though,"_ Tom replied, more relaxed than Harry had heard him all day.

"Yeah, will do," Harry promised, before disconnecting the line to turn his attention back to Dougie.

"There we go, see, no need to be sorry, everything's fine," Harry reassured, seeing that Dougie seemed to now be at a stage of relative calm.

Dougie nodded. He knew Harry was lying. Well, not lying as such, but stretching the truth. They may not have been angry with him, but he felt a terrible weight of remorse upon himself for the stress he must have caused them by wondering off like he had done. He wished he'd had a chance to think things through before his legs carried him out the door all those hours ago, but he couldn't, it was like his legs weren't consulting his brain before engaging in whatever way they felt like. Dougie wondered if this was normal, if everyone maybe had this from time to time. He had had it before, sort off, a few times, back when he was younger, when his mind would wonder off and he'd end up losing a few hours here and there, but that was nothing compared to this, nothing at all. And it terrified him.

"You want to try and get back to the car, mate?" Harry asked, "Or, I guess I could drive it round and get you?"

Dougie shook his head, "No, no I'll come, don't leave…" He trailed off.

"Don't what?"

"Don't leave me again," Dougie mumbled, burying his head into Harry's side to hide his tears, though he wasn't quite sure why he was bothering to hide it anymore.

"Sshh, sshh, It's okay, I wont," Harry rubbed his hand on Dougie back until he heard these new sobs subside a bit, "Come on, let's get you home."

Dougie nodded, the bitterness of the night's air running through his veins as if it were embedded in him now. Harry pulled himself up off the pavement, helping Dougie up once he had done so, before they began on their journey back to the car. Harry was thankful that Dougie had wanted to walk with him, even on his bad ankle, rather than wait on his own. Truth be told, Harry didn't want to leave Dougie alone any more than Dougie wanted to be left, but had decided to give Dougie the option in case his ankle was even more hurt than it seemed. Dougie clung on to Harry, drawing the warmth remaining from his friend's body into his own, leaning on him for support walking, needing him to be there to keep him in touch with reality.

The route back to the car seemed quicker to Harry when retracing it than on his original, frantic journey. Maybe it was having Dougie back, and knowing he was safe, or maybe it was because during the time they had spent sat on the side of the road, the rain seemed to have cleared up, or maybe, most likely, it had something to do with the fact that this time they were not also looking for a person, and could walk directly, not checking over and under, in front and behind of every single obstruction along the road.

Before too long, they had reached the car. Harry unlocked it, and went round to the passenger side to open the door and help Dougie in, before going round to open the boot, taking out the coat he had bought for Dougie, and placing it round his friend's huddled shoulders. Harry inhaled deeply, rubbing his eyes, and got into the drivers seat of the car. He was glad he had Dougie, glad Dougie was safe now, but he just wished he could understand why Dougie kept doing this to himself. He hadn't understood half of the jumbled words Dougie had been saying earlier, he didn't understand how someone could just blank out, or at least, how someone sane could blank out so completely. But that would mean that the nature of Dougie sanity was now being called into question, and Harry knew that wasn't the case. Dougie was fine, he had to be fine, he was just going through a rough time, he'd be himself again in no time, he had to be. He had to be.

Turning the engine on, Harry immediately turned the heating on full blast, cold air flying out of vents before the car had a chance to heat up. Harry saw Dougie shivering as it did, and turned the fans down until the air had warmed. Dougie had not realised how cold he had been until he was sat in the car. He was shivering, violently and uncontrollably. He skin was red from chill and covered in goose bumps, the tips of his fingers tinged in blue. He hugged his bare arms around himself under the coat rested on his shoulders, and pulled it tighter across his body.

"You alright now, mate?" Harry asked, looking over Dougie, not wanting to drive until he knew Dougie would be okay, until he knew he could stay grounded for the long drive home.

"Y-y-y-yeah, I th-th-th-think so," Dougie said, through chattering teeth.

Harry turned fully to face him, "You know you can say if you're not, Dougs," He said, with a sombre tone to his voice, trying to make contact with Dougie's averting eyes.

Dougie nodded, "Yeah, I-I-I-I kn-know, I-I'll b-b-be fine, j-j-j-just c-cold," He stuttered, even his voice shivering as he tugged more so at the coat covering him.

Harry didn't believe him. He hated how much Dougie said these days that he couldn't bring himself to believe, but it was just how Dougie was. Dougie hated asking for help, he hated letting people know when he wasn't okay, he just kept it inside himself, with it occasionally manifesting in fits of anger and pits of depression. But Harry knew how dangerous it could be to let his friend do that. So he would make Dougie talk to him, somehow, he would make Dougie tell him what was going on inside his head.

But for now, Harry let it go, and began on the drive home, the heating having finally stated blowing out hot air, thawing and drying Dougie off as they drove. Dougie felt exhausted, the walking, and the fear, and all the crying having worn him out. He felt like a child admitting it though. Surely it was only children who got worn out of energy from crying, he thought. Dougie heard his stomach growling, remembering he had not eaten yet that day.

"I don't think I've got anything to eat in the car," Harry said, hearing it, "We could stop though and get something, if you like?"

Dougie shook his head, "Nah, that's alright, I'm not even hungry, really."

And he wasn't. Despite what his body was telling him, his stomach was too full of nerves and anxiety and fear and desperation to have room for hunger. He settled his head back into the leather seat of the car, and closed his eyes, enjoying the warm air cradle him as he drifted off into a more restful state of sleep.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked the chapter, please review so I know :D. Chapter 14 should be up either tomorrow or the day after!<strong>

**Also, just a quick note to Chloe (who is lovely for reviewing every chapter so positively!), what you said on yesterday's chapter about you being bad a writing, you should set up an account and post something! (Also that way I can PM you rather than replying in notes!). I don't think anyone is bad at writing per se, it's just a matter of practice I think :D. Although I don't think I'm particularly great at writing, I mean, I got a C in GCSE English 3 years ago and haven't studied anything writing based since then!**

**Anyways, yeah, I digress. Hope you all liked the chapter, please review. Thank-you also to J for the suggestions on the last chapter, I shall see what I can do! If anyone has any more suggestions, please do let me know :D.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello! Here's chapter 14 :D. Thank-you everyone as always for all the reviews, I really appreciate them, it means so much to me to know that people like reading this.**

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><p>"Hey, Dougs, wake up," Harry whispered, shaking Dougie's arm, "We're back."<p>

Dougie had slept the entire way back home, still and silent except for the occasional worrying whimper and the rumbling of his stomach. Although Harry had hoped to use the car ride home as an opportunity to talk to Dougie about what was going on, he thought it best he let Dougie sleep, seeing as he clearly needed the rest. Harry had instead spent the drive back inside his own head, trying to figure out what he could do for Dougie, trying to think a way to have him open up and talk to them about everything that was going on, but he drew nothing but blanks. He felt more than ever like there was little hope that they would find a way to get Dougie out of his rut, and yet more determined at the same time to prove himself wrong.

Still sleeping, Dougie murmured incoherently, and turned his head away from Harry, batting Harry's hand off his shoulder. Harry sighed, Dougie was hard to wake up at the best of times, and now, where he looked like he was having a better night's sleep than he'd had in weeks, it was going to be even harder. He considered carrying Dougie into Tom's house, he was probably light enough for Harry to carry, especially now with how skinny he seemed to have gotten lately from his lack of appetite, though Harry decided against it, fearing Dougie would wake up in his arms and freak out, not knowing where he was or something.

"Dougie? Dougie wake up, we're back," Harry said again, louder this time, trying to shake Dougie awake.

"Nnmmhhggnn nnmmhhgg," Dougie grumbled again, his head tossing from side to side.

"Dougs, come on, wake up," Harry repeated, his voice now with the slightest tinge of frustration edging into it.

At this, Dougie's eyes shot open, "W-w-w-what? Where are we? What?" Dougie gibbered in his newly awakened confusion.

"We're back at Tom's. You fell asleep while I was driving back," Harry explained softly, trying not to startle Dougie more so.

Dougie nodded slowly, piecing together his fragmented day. Harry got out of the car and went to open Dougie's door for him, helping him up the stairs to Tom's house. Each step pained Dougie's ankle more than the last. How on Earth had he managed to walk on it all day, he wondered. Did his blanking out extend to not being able to feel pain? That worried him, more than losing sections of time, more than not knowing how things happened, what worried him the most was that he could do things to himself without even knowing that what he was doing would hurt himself later. Maybe it was getting to the point that he couldn't deal with this on his own anymore. Who was he kidding? He wasn't dealing with it at all as it were, rather just ignoring it and hoping it would go away. Maybe that needed to change. Almost before Harry had rung the doorbell, the door flew open, revealing Tom, Danny and Giovanna.

"Are you alright, Dougs? What happened? Where did you go?" Tom asked, both him and Danny pulling Dougie into a hug.

"Mhmng, gerrof, can't breathe!" Dougie mumbled from within their grasps.

"Sorry," Tom laughed, "We we're just happy you're back. Here, come in, come in," He said, realising they were all still standing in the doorway, "Let me go get you some dry clothes, um, Gio, why don't you put the kettle on?"

Giovanna nodded and went through to the kitchen, Harry, Danny and Dougie making their way through to the living room.

"Cheers for letting me know you found him, by the way, man," Danny said, sarcastically, to Harry.

Harry's face went white, "Oh, shit. Sorry, dude, I didn't think," He gasped.

"Nah, it's alright mate, Tom called me," Danny laughed.

They stood around the living room, not knowing quite what to say, the elephant in the room plaguing all their minds, blocking all other aspects of conversation. The silence was painful for Dougie, knowing what was on everyone's minds, knowing it was his fault, that he had caused this to happen. He didn't want to others to blame him as he blamed himself, but he felt like it was his fault. He felt like if they were to blame him, to tell him he was making their lives to difficult, that it would be neither an unfounded nor unreasonable thing to say. The last thing he wanted was to lose his friends, but maybe for their own good, he thought, maybe he should put some distance between them.

Tom came back down with clothes for Dougie, which he went to change into. Giovanna walked through to the living room, a tray of tea and biscuits – to try and encourage Dougie to eat something – in tow, before disappearing off upstairs, to give the guys a chance to talk.

"So what happened?" Tom asked Harry, breaking the silence.

Harry just shook his head, "He, uh, he doesn't know. I don't really understand to be honest. He tried to explain, but, well, he wasn't making all that much sense. I don't know."

"It's kind of scary, that is, isn't it?" Tom mused aloud, Danny and Harry nodding in agreement.

Dougie came back through, now in dry attire, greeted by smiles and pleasantries from the others. He took a seat on the sofa, looking around at his friends' fake smiles and worried expressions beneath them. They were going to want him to talk. He felt anxiety rising within his stomach, gripping his whole body in a suspended animation of fear. No, no, this couldn't be happening again, not now, not so soon after, not with everyone around. He couldn't concentrate, he didn't know what was going on, he never knew what was going on. He tried to clutch onto the strings of his mind, but they kept slipping away, floating through his hands like a helium balloon.

"Uh, guys…" Dougie began, trying to focus his eyes on the room.

All three sets of eyes shot round to Dougie's, seeing them start to glaze over as he retreated into his escaping mind.

"Oh, shit. Okay, Dougs, look at me," Harry said, turning to face Dougie and grabbing onto his shoulders.

Dougie tried to focus, trying to look at his friends face. It was like a dream, almost. The world was there, Dougie could recognise things, he knew where he was and who he was with, but it was wrong, it was different, nothing was real, just a hazy representation of a world out of focus, where nothing quite made sense.

"Dougie? Dougie? Look at me," Harry continued, his voice more stern as he tried to break into Dougie's head, "You know who you are, right?"

Dougie nodded slowly, "Yeah, it's, um, it's not like that," He tried to explain. How could he explain? How could he tell them what was going on when it barely made sense to him?

"Okay, good, okay, what is it like then? You know where you are and everything, right?" Harry asked, glad to be having some sort of interaction from Dougie, seeing he was not completely gone yet.

Again Dougie nodded, "Yeah. I, uh, I don't know," As he spoke, he felt his ties to the world become stronger, the fuzziness leaving the edges slowly but surely, "It's like, I get stressed, or nervous, or I think too much, and then everything disappears, the world sort of just goes away for a bit. Only it doesn't go away, it's still there, but it's all different, and I'm not me, but I am me, I just can't think, and, I don't know," The world was coming back round, sharp again, the clouds beginning to clear from his mind, "I sound crazy, don't I?"

Tom and Danny exchanged a worried glance, agreeing, ever so slightly, with Dougie but not wanting to do so, knowing they could never say it even though they thought it may have some amount of truth to it.

"No, you don't," Harry replied, a response that surprised himself as he said it was much as it did the others, "We just need to figure out why this is happening, so that we know when to make it stop. Look, see, you're pretty much here now, right?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm alright. I'm really sorry, I don't mean to. I didn't mean to go off today, I just, I don't know what I'm doing half the time anymore," Dougie began to break down as he spoke, his voice cracking and his face bleak as he pinching his eyes together to stop himself from crying again.

Danny, Harry and Tom looked around at each other. They had never seen him look so helpless as he did now. Before, everything that was happening to Dougie was external, there were reasons behind it, things they could try to understand, things Dougie could understand and overcome. But now, it was different. It was Dougie's mind turning against itself, catching him off guard at his weakest moments and dragging him down further.

"We're here for you, okay? You know that. You just need to talk to us to let us know what's going on. We can't help you if you don't tell us." Harry said, gently, glad that Dougie finally felt like he could talk and that they were finally being let in, even if they had only just began to scratch at the surface.

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked the chapter, please review to let me know, all comments and suggestions are more than welcome!<strong>  
><strong>Next chapter will be up within a couple of days :D.<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello! Here's chapter 15, p****lease review to let me know what you think :D. ****I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update, I tried to get this up on Friday but I kept getting an error message when I tried to upload, and then I was away for the weekend. I hope no ones lost interest in the story, the time off from writing has given me quite a few ideas so I should be back to everyday/every other day updates again now. **

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><p>"Harry?" Dougie said, slightly louder than a whisper, but more hushed than actually engaging his vocal chords in the words, "Are you still awake?"<p>

It was late at night, or, more accurately, very early in the morning. Tom and Giovanna had gone to bed, and Danny had gone home. Harry had volunteered to spend the night with Dougie, Dougie's words about not being left alone again ringing through his head. Dougie had been thankful, not least because it meant he did not have to ask for anyone to stay with him, which he would have done although he had been dreading doing so. He was terrified that his awful day would end up repeating itself if he was left alone, if there was no one around for him to keep him away from the wormholes of his mind. They lay in the spare room, each to their own sides of the king sized bed, each with their own duvet due to Dougie's habit of cocooning himself within the covers. It made Dougie feel safe from himself, having someone else so close by, like he didn't have to be within his own head when there was someone else there. And Harry was happy to stay, Dougie was just starting to open up to them, he thought if anything did happen he may be able to convince Dougie to talk some more.

"Yeah, what's up?" Harry replied, slightly louder than Dougie, his words slurring a little and his voice sounding tired.

"I, uh, I just wanted to say thanks, for everything today," Dougie said, raising his voice to match Harry's now he knew he wouldn't be waking him up.

"No problem, mate, anytime, you know that, right?" Harry replied, shuffling round from the edge of the bed he was facing to lie on his back, turning his head to look at Dougie, "Just, don't test that by doing something like that again… I think Tom might actually have a heart attack or something if you did." He smiled, attempting a joke to lighten the mood.

Dougie smiled slightly, "Yeah, I know. I really am sorry, I don't mean to, you know, an–"

"Yeah, I know, it's alright Dougs. We're just worried about you. We just want you to be alright. Try and get some sleep, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," Dougie mumbled, finding it difficult to hear so directly that he was worrying his friends even though it was something he already knew, "Goodnight, dude,"

"Sleep well, mate," Harry replied, rolling back on his side to face the wall.

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><p>Tom lay in bed, unable to sleep, his mind too full of stress and unanswered questions to rest for long enough for him to drift off. Truth be told, he was scared for Dougie, today had scared him even more than he had realised at the time. Before today, before Dougie blanked out long enough to walk off hours away and have no idea how he got there, before he saw Dougie start to drift off in front of him, before he heard Dougie's attempts to explain what it felt like, Tom had thought it was probably just something brought on by stress, but now… Now Tom had no idea what was going on, and he didn't like that. Not knowing what was going on meant it was harder to help, and all he wanted to do was to help his friend. He found himself questioning if it was even something he had the ability to help, surely that was why Dougie was seeing a therapist, because he needed more help than his friends could give him. But Dougie didn't have an appointment with Julia for another couple of days, and until then, Tom thought, until then it was up to them to help him.<p>

"Gio?" Tom whispered, wanting to talk through what was going through his head, "Gio, are you awake?"

Tom wasn't surprised when there was no reply, he was only half-expecting one, really. Of course she was asleep, it was ridiculous o'clock in the morning, he should be asleep too. But he couldn't, how could he sleep until he knew what he could do for Dougie? Even if it was out of their control, even if Dougie was too far gone for them to help him by themselves, there must be something they could do. But it was a losing battle, every time Tom tried to think up a way to help Dougie, it was pushed out of his head by his fear that were gradually being realised; his fears that this was more serious than they had thought.

What if was more than just Dougie going through a bad time? What if it was now affecting his sanity? What if their old Dougie wouldn't just come back one day? What if Dougie had truly lost track of how he used to be to the point he couldn't return from? Tom hated the fact that he was thinking it, almost as much as he hated the fact that it may be true. He couldn't even begin to speculate why this was happening to Dougie any more. Tom was staring to doubt it even had anything to do with Dougie's break-up any more, or That Night even. Maybe they were just triggers into darker areas of Dougie's psyche, that he had let his guard down and everything had come tumbling out at once. Tom shuffled round in the bed, trying to push his fears out of his mind long enough to fall asleep, trying to think productively, try and find something he could do to fix everything.

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><p>Sat in his own living room, just a couple of doors away from everyone else, Danny picked up his cup of tea and took a sip of the hot liquid. Like everyone else that night, Danny could not sleep. He needed to be doing something, needed to be finding away to get on top of the situation at hand, not let it control them like it was doing now. But he was lost, so far out of his depth that even if he found answers he probably wouldn't know what to do with them. Shifting towards the table the sofa he was sitting on was facing, Danny pulled his laptop towards him, lifting the lid and pressing the on button down. The machine whirred to life, and Danny clicked onto the internet icon. Google probably wasn't the best place to find answers, but for the time being, it was the best idea he could think of.<p>

Resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, Danny rubbed his eyes with his hands, sighing. This was a stupid idea, all his ideas were stupid ideas, that was why he didn't voice them or give them the time to be thought about. But maybe he could trick his mind into doing something right, into finding some sort of solution, or information, that they needed. He wasn't even sure if he was looking for answers, just something, anything that might help the situation, even ever so slightly, to make it better or easier to understand than it was now.

Danny stared at the search engine on his computer screen, his mind completely devoid of what he should type. Losing time? Blanking out? Mind drifting? Mind blanking out? He settled on the latter, typing it in, his hands shaking over the enter button, almost not wanting to press it for fear of what may come up. Breathing deeply, he shoved his hand down onto the button, praying that nothing too devastatingly worrying would come up.

General Anxiety Forum.

Anxiety and Panic Disorder Support.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Anxiety induced Disassociation

Dissociative Disorders: Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly Multiple Personality Disorder).

Danny sieved through the results, each seemingly more troublesome than the last. It was all disorders. What a horrible word, he thought. Disorders. Dis-orders. Out of order. Not in order. Something wrong. Something really wrong. And that last one, that was the most terrifying of all. Multiple personality disorder? No, no, he thought, clicking on the link with trembling hands. He read through blurb after blurb, trying to understand the massively simplified list of symptoms. No, that didn't sound right, thank god. But if not that then it was something else, something else with disorder stuck on the end. He closed the lid of the laptop, regretting his decision to search for information. Maybe it was wrong, the internet was wrong about loads of things. But part of him, somewhere in his mind, knew this was confirming what was growing into his greatest fear. Something was seriously wrong, Dougie needed help, maybe this was something that the four of them really couldn't fix on their own.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked the chapter, please let me know what you think!<br>Next chapter coming within a couple of days :).**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello! Here's chapter 16 :D. As always, I just wanted to say thank-you to everyone reading and reviewing so far, please carry on doing so! I never thought I'd be interested in statistics and numbers and that, but this has over 50 reviews on it now, which is amazing, considering I didn't think anyone would even read this when I started posting, so thank-you so much, It really means a lot to me to know what you all think of this story.**

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><p>"How are you this week, Dougie?" Julia asked, her voice calm, placid, almost to the point where what she was saying hardly even sounded like a question.<p>

Dougie sighed, staring at the patterns he could make out of the squares in the carpet between himself and his therapist. He knew he had to tell her, he knew it would be silly not to tell her, it was what she was here for, but it felt wrong, like he wasn't ready to speak, like he wouldn't know what to say once he started talking. He was terrified he'd say too much, and she'd end up sending him to a psychiatric unit or something, terrified that she would think him insane beyond repair if he were to tell her what had been happening. Though he had promised Tom, Harry and Danny that he would tell Julia about the blanking out thing, so he would, he just had to find a way to do so.

"Uh, not great," He replied, eventually, his voice low and quiet, his eyes still firmly fixed on the floor, "How are you?" He added, looking up at her. He felt odd responding to such a question without asking it back, however stupid it may have sounded in context.

Julia shifted her eyes in an uncomfortable manor, "I'm fine thank-you, Dougie, but we are here to discuss you."

Dougie nodded slightly, it was going to take a while to get used to this one sided way of having a conversation, he thought.

"What's been going on this week then?" Julia asked.

Dougie stared at the shapes on the carpet, not knowing where to begin, "I, uh, well, some of it's been fine, but then, a couple of days ago, I, um," Dougie paused, biting at his lip, why was it so hard just to tell her? Yes, it was a little weird talking to such a blank canvas, but that was her job, right? That was just how this worked. And he'd promised them that he'd tell her, he had to.

"Go on," Julia's calm voice prompted.

"I've been, uh, zoning out, I guess," Dougie said, fast and quiet, almost like if he were to say it so as for Julia not to really hear.

"I see," Julia said, "Can you tell me a little more?"

Dougie rubbed his hand on his forehead. Why did she have to be so emotionless? Why didn't she react? Dougie wanted to know what she was thinking, really wanted to know what she was thinking, but judging by her response to his earlier question to her, he wasn't going to find out any time soon. The dynamic was difficult for Dougie, it was like talking to a blank slate, a one sided, professional conversation. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, just odd, something that would take some serious getting used to before it felt anywhere that even near resembled normal.

"It's like, when I, y'know," He gestured his hurt hand forward, no longer wrapped in it's bandage, but the wounds covered in dressings, the stitches still in underneath for another couple of days, "Did that, and I didn't realise what I was doing, like I wasn't me, I guess. But not as crazy as that sounds, I don't know," Dougie rambled, not knowing what he should say, not wanting to say too much or too little. He wanted it to stop, he wanted to get better, but he was too scared of Julia thinking him insane to know how to explain what was happening to him.

"And what happens when you zone out?" Julia asked, her questions sounding more like pathways for Dougie to elaborate on that questions in and of themselves.

"Well, this for one," Dougie laughed slightly, raising his hand again, "And, uh, the other day, I sort of walked halfway across London without realising," As soon as the words left his mouth he wished he could drag them back inside. Having the words hanging in the air made everything real. He had done that. He had worried everyone by walking halfway across London on his own. He'd messed up his ankle even more by doing so. He'd had to be found by Harry, had to be brought back home. He hadn't known where he was, or how he'd gotten there. He had scared himself, not to mention everyone else. And now there was no getting away from that. It was something he had done, something stupid, stupid like punching his hand through a mirror, and he would have to learn to live with the knowledge of what he'd done, however stupid it may have been, however much it made him cringe at the thought of it, regardless of whether or not he remembered doing so.

"I see," Julia said, "And can you describe how it feels?"

Could he describe how it felt? What did it feel like? It didn't feel like anything, not really, but he couldn't say that, could he?

"Uh, I don't know, it's like I'm not really me, I guess," Dougie mumbled.

"So, would you say it was an out of body experience?" Julia asked, the first direct question Dougie had heard from her.

"I guess?" He shrugged, questioningly. He wasn't sure, that was her job, wasn't it? To tell her what was wrong and have her fix it?

"Okay, hold on there a minute, Dougie, I'm just going to get a questionnaire type form for you to fill out," Julia said, standing up from her leather chair.

"Um, okay," Dougie said, starting to get worried. Had he said too much? What form? Why did he have to fill something out? He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He knew this had been a bad idea from the start, this wasn't going to help anything. He didn't want to be here in this strange, beige room with its dull, orange light and checkerboard carpet, and table with a box of tissues like it was just waiting for him to break down in tears. He wanted to be at home, at Tom's house, with his friends, watching TV, or playing Xbox, or even talking to them rather than to Julia, doing anything, doing anything other than being here and doing this. He sat, staring at the walls, twiddling his thumbs. He looked up at the clock on the wall, ticking away; twenty minutes in, only half an hour to go. That couldn't take too long, although time seemed to pass differently inside that room, it dragged on or sped up depending on how much was being said. The same about of time could seem to last seconds or hours if it was passing through conversation compared to silence. Dougie raised his head, hearing the clacking of Julia's shoes coming back into the room, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Okay then, Dougie," Julia said, sitting back down, a sheet of A4 paper clipped onto a blue clipboard and a pen in hand, "I've got a question form here, for me to get a better understanding of your disassociating, that is, the zoning out. Some patients find it easier to have the questions to help them explain. If I read you the questions, it's on a scale of naught to ten, and you just tell me how much each statement applies to you, alright?"

Dougie nodded, grateful that she would fill it out rather than him, as although the bandage was off, it was still a little tricky to write. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard, just rating statements out of ten. At least it would take up some time, maybe even the rest of the session. However strange it was to be being assessed via questionnaire, it was definitely easier, and far less weird, than having to actually talk. He wanted to get better, to be back to normal, more than anything, really, if not least so that his friends could stop being so worried about him all the time, but it was hard, so hard, to break the walls of silence he had built up around his feelings. At least this was a start, a path to letting Julia in. Maybe as time went on he would feel like he was getting to know her somewhat. Or maybe he had to let her get to know him first.

Dougie listened as she listed off the questions. Things about losing time, and getting places without knowing how, and escaping into ones mind, and drifting off in conversations, and when and how often and to what extent. He tried his best to rate them accurately, most ending up at around a five or a six, Dougie not wanting to score anything too highly to too lowly, opting mostly for the slightly higher end of middle ground.

"And how about hearing voices?" Julia asked.

Dougie's eyes opened wide. Hearing voices? Was that something that was going to happen? Or was it unrelated to whatever he was going through. Either way, it sounded like the sort of question generally reserved for the more serious cases of mental illness, not just a bit if a low time with some anxiety thrown in for good measure, which was how he saw his own state most of the time.

"Oh, no, never. Zero." Dougie replied, trying to make his voice sound certain instead of worried.

"No, I wouldn't think so," Julia replied. Dougie relaxed at hearing this. Maybe it was just something on the form, just in case, "And lastly, would you say you create worlds within your mind?"

Those last two seemed a whole different calibre of question. Worlds inside his mind. He had a bit of an imagination, he thought, but that wasn't places in his mind, was it? And if he said yes, would it make him sound crazy? He pondered on the question for a second.

"Um, not really, I just escape off into nothingness, rather than to anywhere, if that makes sense,"

"Alright then," Julia said, reading through the paper, and turning it over. The room fell silent as Julia scribbled down notes, Dougie drifting back to staring around the room, his eyes landing on the clock again, seeing that there wasn't too long left to go before Harry would be there to pick him up. Since the day Dougie had wondered off, Harry had stuck to Dougie's side, barely leaving him alone, constantly making sure that he was okay, talking him back down if he started to zone out, making sure he was eating properly and getting enough sleep. As much as Dougie was appreciating everything that his friends were doing for him, it came with a layer of guilt on Dougie's part, feeling bad for making his problems his friends' problems too. Not that they would let him keep them to himself, but even so, Dougie felt like he should just learn to deal with everything without dragging them into things with him, but what could he do?

"Okay, so according to this, you should moderate signs of a dissociative disorder, as a side effect of your depression and anxiety issues. Now, I know it sounds scary, but, managed correctly, it shouldn't be too much of a problem once it's under control. This is not a medical diagnosis, I must stress that. I cannot treat you with medication, only address the problems to hand," Julia explained, her calm voice relaxing Dougie somewhat, to his surprise. That must be why she spoke in that tone, he thought.

"Um, okay," Dougie nodded, "What can I, um, do about it? Should I tell the guys?"

"Well, what's your living situation like?" Julia asked.

Dougie thought about the question for a second before he answered, "I've sort of moved in with Tom, and his girlfriend, Gio, for now. The others, Danny and Harry, are there most of the time too. I live, well, I lived, on my own for a while, just down the road before, but they like to, uh, to be able to keep an eye on me, I guess." He answered.

"Okay, good. I was going to say living alone can sometimes be a little dangerous in the early stages of dealing with disassociation. It's good you have such supportive friends. I would recommend you tell them, but that is up to you," Julia smiled, though it was a slightly blank smile, her eyes more sympathetic than happy as far as Dougie could tell, "It might be worth all of you coming in for a family therapy session, if you do share it with them. It's a little unorthodox in a situation like yours, but it is often helpful in a family setting and from what you have said, the dynamic seems to be more one of a family than anything else. I could explain to your friends way in which they can help you, if it's something you would be interested in doing?"

A group session? With everyone? Dougie didn't quite know what to make of it. He wasn't sure whether it would be more or less strange to have the guys here with him. But maybe it was worth a shot, so that they could talk about things together, and he could hear from them as well, hear how they felt about everything too. Maybe, maybe it would be a good idea. If it was terrible, they didn't have to do it again, he thought.

"Uh, yeah, maybe. I'll, um, I'll talk to the guys," Dougie said, still half in thought.

"Of course," Julia nodded. She reached forward and picked up a business card from the table, "Here is my number, talk to them, and call me to arrange a time sometime in week if you like. If not, I will see you next Wednesday, as we seem to have reached time for this week," She smiled that forced smile again.

Dougie nodded, taking the card and stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket, which he picked up and put on as he went to stand up, following Julia's lead. He followed her out of the room, down the stairs, listening to the squeak in his shoe that he only seemed to notice when he was there. He found himself reflecting on the session in the walk downstairs, feeling as though maybe he was getting somewhere, however slowly. At least he now had a name for what was going on, something that could be addressed. At least he knew it wasn't exactly just him losing his mind.

They reached the ground floor, Julia unlocking the front door and holding it open for Dougie, "See you next week, Dougie," She said, as he went to step outside.

"Yeah, bye," Dougie said, stepping out into the winter evening, looking across the road and catching sight of Harry's parked car which he began to make his way towards, as Julia closed the door behind him.

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><p><strong>I hope you all liked the chapter, please let me know!<br>I'm not sure if I'm going to have a chance to update again before the weekend, I have a project due on Friday at uni, but hopefully I'll be able to write and upload something, even if it's just a short chapter, before then! I'm really sorry if I can't though.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update again, I was so busy with uni work getting my project finished, and I had a little bit of writer's block as well. Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter, the writer's block is making it really hard to tell what's good and what isn't, so I'm sorry if this is terrible, I just didn't want to keep you guys waiting too much longer for a chapter!**

**And thank-you as always for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter, you guys are all awesome :D. Hope you like this chapter!**

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><p>Harry pulled up his car outside Tom's house to park. Dougie had been quiet on the drive home from therapy, uncomfortably so, and it was making Harry worried. Dougie had shrugged off Harry's questions about how therapy was, and about how he was doing, instead staring out of the window as Harry drove, the quiet hum of him singing along to the CD that was playing being all that let Harry know he had not zoned out again. Harry hated being shut out like this, it was one thing knowing Dougie was unable to communicate what was happening, but it was another thing entirely knowing that his friend was intentionally not telling him what was going on. He missed the days before Dougie became like this, back when Dougie would, and could, tell him literally anything.<p>

Turning off the engine, Harry waited for a second before he opened his door, wondering if he should say anything. Dougie was undoing his seatbelt, going to get out of the car, to go into Tom's house where everyone was for dinner. Once they were inside, Harry knew Dougie wouldn't be anymore inclined to talk to him. If he wasn't going to while they were alone, there was no way he would in front of everyone. As Dougie turned to open his car door, he felt Harry's hand tapping him gently on his shoulder. He turned his head round to face Harry.

"Look, Dougs, I know you don't want to, but just know when you are ready to talk, I'm here, okay?" Harry said, his voice low and gentle, tinged with remorse and sympathy.

Dougie felt tears threatening to prick at his eyes. No, no, not again, not now. He raised his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop them from falling, not wanting to be seen crying yet again, "Yeah, I know. Thanks, Haz," He replied huskily, smiling slightly once he was certain that speaking would not lead to tears falling.

"No problem," Harry smiled back, hoping Dougie would be ready sooner rather than later.

They got out the car and made their way to Tom's front door, Harry taking out a key from his pocket to unlock it when they approached.

"Hey, we're back!" Harry called as the walked through the door, going through to the kitchen and putting the keys down on the counter. Tom and Danny came through to join them.

"Y'alright, Dougs? How's it go?" Danny asked.

Dougie shrugged his shoulders and mumbled as a reply. How did it go? He didn't know, not really. It was okay, kind of. It wasn't terrible. Only it kind of was, it was scary, having this name for something he couldn't explain. Not that a name changed much, it didn't make him better, it didn't give him a way for it to stop happening. He stuck his hands into his jeans pocket, hitting Julia's card as he did so. Fuck. The group therapy session she wanted to do with them. How was he going to bring that up? He didn't want to have to drag his friends into that awkward room with him, he didn't want to subject them to that, they hadn't done anything wrong, they didn't need to waste their time there.

"You hungry, dude? We were going to order pizza," Tom asked.

"Sure," Dougie replied, his mind very much elsewhere.

How was he going to tell them? He felt his heart beat fast inside his chest at the prospect. He didn't know why it was making him so nervous, but it felt as though there were so many butterflies in his stomach that he could take flight, the events of his therapy session swirling round and round his mind. Maybe he could just not tell them. But that wouldn't be fair. No, his friends had gone so far out of their way to help him, to not tell them would be wrong, it would be like he didn't appreciate everything they were doing for him. And he did, so much, but sometimes everything just got too much to handle.

"Still with us, mate?" Harry asked, waving his hand in front of Dougie's glazed over eyes.

"What? Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Dougie replied, a little too quickly.

"What's wrong, dude? Did everything go okay?" Tom asked, stepping towards him.

"Nothing's wrong! Of course it didn't go okay, would you all just stop asking and leave me alone?" Dougie exploded, doing his best to storm out of the kitchen, the effect being lost somewhat due to his residual limp from his ankle.

Tom went to follow him, but upon seeing he was just going into the living room, decided it best to let him cool off in his own time. Danny and Harry stood back in shock. Dougie rarely shouted, they had not seen him say anything like that in years. Sure, when he was a moody teenager he used to shout at them to leave him alone, and go off slamming his bedroom door, but this was different. That had been when he was a kid, when they barely knew him, not really, when the band and everything was new, and he was still finding his place. But now, he wasn't a kid anymore, and they weren't people he barely knew, they were his best friends. Why was he blocking them out to this extent again?

Dougie sat in the living room, resting his head in his hands, breathing deeply. He knew he was being overdramatic, he knew he shouldn't be acting like this, that by storming off like he did when he was a teenager was only going to build this up into a bigger deal than it was. How hard could it be? _Guys, the blanking out thing is called a dissociative disorder_, that was it, that was all he needed to say, but the words ran through his head, different wordings of the same sentence spinning through until he found one that sounded right. But none of them sounded right, the words still couldn't sit right in his mouth, and if he said them, then everything would become real. He rubbed his eyes, sighing. Why did this have to be so hard? He felt a hand on his shoulder, making him jump slightly, lifting his head.

"Sorry, mate," He heard Danny say from behind him, making his way round to sit next to him on the sofa.

"S'alright," Dougie mumbled in reply.

"Look, Dougs mate, you've got to tell us what's going on, you can't be doing this y'know," Danny said, putting his arm around his friend.

Dougie nodded, sighing again. He knew he had to tell them, he really did, it wasn't fair not to, but why was it so hard to get the words out of his mouth? He just wanted to curl up somewhere away from this, away from everything and everyone, so that he wouldn't have to deal with anything. To go into hibernation for a month or so and have everything magically better when he woke up. But he knew that couldn't happen, he knew there was no point putting it off. He knew he had to tell them.

"Come on, dude, how bad can it be?" Danny asked, forcing a smile, secretly hoping that it was none of the horrible disorders he'd read about online the other day. He still hadn't told anyone what he'd read, hoping it wouldn't be true, hoping Dougie was fine, that this was all just a side effect of Dougie's apparent depression.

Harry and Tom stood in the doorway, not wanting to go further into the room for fear of making Danny's progress with Dougie regress again, but still wanting to hear what was being said. They glanced across at each other, concerned eyes meeting, exchanging their worries silently.

Dougie sighed, deeper this time, nodding slightly, staring at the floor, "I, uh, I… uh… I don't know, uh, I'm sorry…" Dougie trailed off.

"Come on, Dougs, it's alright" Danny coaxed, his hand reassuring on Dougie's arm, knowing now Dougie had tried to speak it would just be a matter of time before they found out. Danny tried to brace himself of the news he feared to be true.

"I, uh, at therapy, she, uh, she was asking questions, about the blanking out thing. She said it's called disassociating. A dissociative disorder, a mild one, but yeah, a dissociative disorder. She, uh, she wanted to know if you guys wanted to come have a group session with me next week about it. I said I'd let her know. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I didn't, I don't, want to make you all have deal with this, but... yeah. I'm sorry," Dougie rambled, the words spilling out of his mouth almost without his control.

Danny felt his heart like lead, sinking to his stomach at the revelation. He didn't know what to say. Even the research online, being as prepared as he was, he still couldn't have prepared himself for that, seeing Dougie so distraught, it was worse than any other more serious diagnosis Dougie could have come home with. He pulled Dougie into a hug, seeing tears spring to his friend's eyes. Harry and Tom made their way over to the sofa, surrounding Dougie.

"It's alright, dude, we'll deal with this, you're going to be fine," Tom said, rubbing Dougie's back as Danny released him from the hug.

"Yeah, mate, don't worry about any of this, everything's going to be alright," Harry added.

But as they tried to console Dougie, a shared thought hung in the air. A shared fear for their friend, thoughts of what they could do and how could they change things, banging against a dead end wall, not knowing what they could do other than to just be there for when Dougie needed them.

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><p><strong>I really hope that chapter was alright, like I said, writer's block makes it a little hard for me to tell! Please review, all comments, criticisms, suggestions, etc are more than welcome!<br>Next chapter should (hopefully!) be up tomorrow or the day after :D.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello! Here's chapter 18 :D. This has seemed to go off in a bit of a weird direction, it wasn't where I intended it to go, but it's setting up for a bit more drama, so I hope it's alright. I tried adding some more stuff happening to try and shift my writer's block, and this is what happened.**

******Warning: this chapter contains mild drug use. I'm going to leave the rating as it is because I don't think it's all that bad, but if anyone thinks I should move the rating up then please let me know and I will do. It feels a little strange putting this chapter up because of the drug references, so I hope no one is offended by it or anything.**

**Also, I'm going to put an extra disclaimer here as well as the one at the beginning because of the drug use: _Obviously, I do not own anyone in this story who also exists in the world. Also, none of the story is true, it is fiction, I made it up._**

**Okay then! Sorry, not sure if it's just me being silly but I felt I should add all that! I hope you all like the chapter, please review and let me know, like I said, this wasn't where I was intending to go, it just sort of happened. Thank-you as always to everyone reading and reviewing so far, you guys are awesome :D.**

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><p>A couple of days had passed since Dougie's last therapy session. The guys had told him that they wanted to come in for the group session, they needed help to know how to help their friend, though they did not tell him that. They had simply said that if Julia thought it would be a good idea then they did too, which was in part also true. Dougie had been doing a little better, he had managed to stay grounded for most of the past couple of days, and the others were getting better at being able to tell when he was about to dissociate. Dougie's mood had not been particularly improved though, his depression seeping through into everything he said and thought. In an attempt to pick him back up, Danny had suggested a bit of a night out, nothing special, just out to a bar for a few drinks, the sort of night out Dougie would usually have enjoyed, no clubs, no forced dancing or anything like that, just drinks and conversation. It had taken some convincing at first, Dougie was not particularly keen on going out or doing anything for fear of disassociating in public, but had reluctantly agreed in the end. He never had been able to say no to Danny.<p>

The group of friends walked down the high street, approaching the navy blue awning of The Pegasus Arms, a local rock music bar than they often visited in months gone past. Dougie trailed on, a little behind the others, his dark grey skinny jeans, maroon leather jacket, and ankle boots and unwelcome, though necessary, change from the tracksuit and slippers he had been wearing almost exclusively lately. He walked along, hands shoved in his pockets and his head down watching his feet moving forwards, trying to figure out why his was dreading being out tonight quite so much. He liked the bar, it wasn't that, he was happy to be spending time with his friends, out of the house, he even thought being out would be a good way to snap him out of his pattern of wallowing in self-pity, and yet at the same time, he just wanted to be back at home, wearing pyjamas and playing Xbox, blocking his thoughts out of his mind by shooting zombies or whatever. But he had agreed to come out, mostly to make his friends happy, to make them think everything was going better than it really was. He had been trying his hardest to hold onto his head, to not disassociate – the word still wouldn't sound right to him, he wasn't sure when it would start to – but he was still far from being okay, the dark cloud looming over his head wherever he went.

The bar wasn't particularly crowded, it was a Wednesday night and it was only about 8pm, not that many people were out. The four boys and Giovanna made their way across the dimly lit room, past tables and chairs, to the corner sofa area they always sat at. The bar was filled with sounds of people talking, a white noise of conversation, with the dull hum of the bassline from the song coming through the speakers.

"I'll get the drinks," Tom announced, as the others went to sit down.

"Here, I'll help carry," Gio added, taking Tom's hand as they made their way over to the bar.

Dougie watched them, a feeling rising in his stomach that he had not felt before as he did so. A sort of resentful jealousy, not of Gio, or Tom for that matter, but of what they had together, the fact that neither of them would know what it was like to be as alone as Dougie felt. He hated that he felt like he did, feeling it just made him hate himself more so, annoyed by how pathetic he sounded to himself. Of course no girl could stand to be with him for longer than a couple of months, given the choice, he wouldn't spend any more time with himself than he had to.

"Alright there, mate?" Danny asked, cringing slightly as he said it. He knew Dougie didn't like it when people asked him if he was okay, but it was so hard seeing his friend obviously with something on his mind without asking.

"Yeah, fine dude," Dougie smiled, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind, wishing he could become better at acting fine so that his friends would stop asking and he could stop blatantly lying to them.

Tom and Giovanna arrived back at the table, passing out the pints of beer they had been carrying. Dougie took his, drinking down half the glass of the fizzy, amber liquid in one gulp, hoping the alcohol would take the edge off his senses, and give him mind a rest just long enough for him to be himself again, if only for a few hours. The others chatted, laughing and drinking, while Dougie tried his best to join in. Time passed, though it seemed to be passing slowly for Dougie, sipping on his drink while everyone else seemed not to notice how quiet he was being... Or maybe they were just used to that from him now. It was hard, seeing his friends happy as they had always been, while feeling more ajar and estranged from them, from himself and from his life, than ever before.

"I'll go get another round in," Harry said, standing up, "Same again?"

Noticing everyone else had finished their drinks, Dougie downed the last of his, nodding in unison with the rest of the table. All he wanted was to be able to act normally, to have a good time being out for drinks with his friends, why was it so difficult? It had never been difficult before to be out with them like this, this wasn't anxiety-inducing in the same way clubs were, this was just the four of them – well, five with Gio – having a drink in what was one of his favourite bars, but all it seemed to do was to serve as a reminder that something was different now, that he was different now. His mind no longer worked in the same way it had done a couple of months ago, things he enjoyed were no longer particularly enjoyable to him anymore, not when all he wanted to do was to curl up in bed, alone, away from everyone and everything and hope that one day he would wake up and everything would be back to normal. And at the same time as feeling it, it confused him, too, how he could be feeling so low, so distant, and yet have had nothing occur to make him feel that way. It was almost as though he were in mourning, but without anything having died.

"I'm going to go for a cigarette," Dougie said, picking up his jacket off the spare stool around the table, hoping the fresh air, and not-so-fresh smoke would help clear his head.

"I can come with you if you want, mate?" Danny asked.

"Nah, that's alright, dude," Dougie replied, not wanting to make his friend stand around waiting for him while he smoked. He could do with the time to himself anyway, he thought.

Danny glanced over at Tom, seeing what he thought of Dougie going outside alone. It wasn't that they didn't trust him, he was an adult after all, and he could make his own decisions, but they were all worried about him, especially now, worried about him disassociating and not knowing where he was or something, and them not being there to help him through. Tom just sighed, shaking his head slightly; they couldn't very well tell Dougie he wasn't allowed to go out on his own.

"Just, give us a call if you want someone to join you," Tom said, as Dougie went to leave.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, dude, I'm just going out for a smoke," Dougie laughed, a little annoyed at his friends constant need to baby him. They always had done, to some extent, he'd always been the baby of the group, being the youngest, the one who needed the most guidance in life, but this wasn't like that for Dougie, now it was just another reminder that something wasn't right with his head, that he was a burden, worrying everyone he cared about.

Outside, Dougie leaned against the wall of the building, under the navy blue awning as it was raining slightly, his leather jacket zipped up about halfway to shield him from the cold. He pulled out his cigarette box, took one out and placed it in his mouth, taking out his purple plastic lighter. He flicked the lighter, seeing a tiny spark, but no flame. Shaking the plastic contraption in an attempt to make it work, he tried again, to no avail. He looked around, seeing a tall girl, with long, dark hair, streaked with bright pink, smoking a cigarette, about a metre away from him. Dougie stepped over towards her.

"Sorry, have you got a light?" He asked, not realising how quietly he had spoken, hoping it was loud enough for her to hear.

The girl looked up, her dark-purple lipstick coated lips forming into a smile, "Yeah, here you go, man," She said, in a slightly slurred voice in which Dougie could just about detect an Americain accent, handing him a silver metal lighter.

"Thanks," Dougie said, taking it and lighting his cigarette, inhaling deeply and handing it back to her.

"No problem," She replied, taking her lighter back in her fingerless-glove clad hand and putting it back in her pocket, "I'm Veronica, by the way," She stuck out her hand for Dougie to shake.

"Dougie," He replied, shaking her hand, "Nice to meet you," He cursed himself internally for not having anything better to say. She was pretty. More than pretty, she was beautiful, in a dark and seductive way, her skin porcelain and flawless, doll-like, in contrast to her dark lips and hair.

"So, Dougie," Veronica continued, "Having a good night?"

That voice, thought Dougie, how can she speak like that and not get lost in her own voice? It was low, carefree, almost a little cold with its nonchalance, a mysterious puzzle of a voice.

Dougie nodded slightly, sighing, "It's been alright," He replied, wishing he'd just lied and said it was great, no one really meant it when they asked how someone's day was going, did they?

"That good, eh?" She laughed, "Here, you want some of this?" She asked, holding out her cigarette.

Dougie looked at her, confused, "Uh, I've got one, thanks," He replied, holding up his own and taking a drag.

Veronica laughed, "No, man, it's a joint," She replied with hushed tones, handing it to Dougie.

Dougie looked down what she was handing him. It was bigger than a cigarette, hand rolled, and sort of cone shaped, burned down about half way. With it held out in front of him, Dougie smelled the smoke coming from it, sort of earthy, tinged with tobacco. Dougie had never done drugs before. Sure, he'd been around people smoking weed at parties, but having been in the band under the watchful eyes of both the guys and a record label since the age of fifteen, he'd missed out on a few things people encounter while growing up, and this seemed to be one of them. Though he wasn't entirely sure why, Dougie found himself taking the joint from Veronica, exchanging it for the cigarette he had been smoking.

Dougie pinched it at the end, holding it as he had seen Veronica do just seconds ago, and put it to his lips, inhaling. The smoke tasted different from a cigarette too, earthy like it smelled, and sort of sweet too. As soon as the smoke hit the back of his throat, Dougie spluttered a cough. Veronica laughed again.

"Yeah, it's good, right man?" She smiled.

Dougie just nodded through his coughing, and went to hand it back to her.

"Have a bit more, man, it's alright," She replied, waving it back.

Trying again, Dougie held the joint to his lips and inhaled, slower this time, holding the smoke in his lungs for a couple of seconds before exhaling. He paused. What on Earth was he doing? What was this even meant to feel like? How long would it take to have an effect? Would the guys notice? Oh god, would Tom notice? A sense of calm washed over him, making his worries go fuzzy around the edges. He took another toke of the joint, handing it back to Veronica, smiling.

"Thanks," He said, taking back his cigarette from her. His head felt a little fluffy, nothing big, just like he was far more drunk than he should have been from one beer. He found himself giggling slightly at nothing, before gazing back at Veronica.

"See what I mean? This stuffs really good, man, just got it in from Amsterdam yesterday. You want to buy a bag?" She asked, quietly, leaning her head in towards Dougie, pulling her handbag forward.

"What? Uh… I don't know, um," Dougie stammered. What was going on? Was she a drug dealer? He didn't want to buy any, not really. He wanted to go back inside, he didn't wan to be doing this. And yet, he found himself nodding, staring at her perfect lips, "Sure," He mumbled, eventually.

"How much d'you want, man?" Veronica asked.

How much? How much did it even cost? He shoved his hands in his pocket, pulling out a £10 note, "Uh, how much does it cost?" He asked.

"What? Do you not smoke green, man?" Veronica laughed, Dougie heard a patronising tone to it that he tried to ignore, "Tell you what, why don't you just get a ten bag, and give me a call if you want to buy some more? And FYI, I sell £10 a gram, and an eighth, that's three and a half grams, for £20. Standard prices, man,"

Dougie nodded, pulling out the £10 note from his pocket and handing it to her, in exchange for the small, plastic pouch filled with the herb-like substance which she shoved quickly and discretely into his hand. Though he wanted to examine the mesmerising shapes within the plastic, Dougie shoved it in his pocket quickly, not wanting anyone to see, not even really knowing what he was doing with it.

Veronica handed Dougie a piece of paper with a phone number written down on it, "In case you want any more," She explained, before flicking the end of her joint into the gutter, and walking off down the road.

What the hell had just happened? Dougie stood there in shock, finishing off the last drag of his cigarette. Had he just bought weed? Had he just been tricked into buying weed by a beautiful girl? Well, it wasn't trickery as such, he had agreed to buy it, though he wasn't sure at all why. He didn't want it, at least he didn't think he did. He wouldn't even know what to do with it, honestly. And if anyone found it, god if anyone found it there would be hell to pay. But though he hated to admit it through his guilt, it did feel nice, having his head relaxed enough to be able to think about something other than the pointlessness of his own existence for once, being able to think about something other than fears of disassociating. He put his hands into his pockets, feeling the bag of weed sitting under his right thumb, and went to walk back inside, hoping that none of his friends would notice anything amiss for the time being.

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked it, please review to let me know, as always any comments, criticisms, suggestions, etc are very welcome.<br>Next chapter coming within in a couple of days!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello! Here's chapter 19. Sorry, it's just a short chapter today. I'm not entirely happy with it, it started out as just the beginning for a chapter, but it dragged on a little long for that, and I wanted to put something up to move things along a little (though I'm not quite sure where exactly they're being moved along to!). **

**Thanks as always to everyone reading and reviewing, it's so lovely to know what you all think of the story! Please keep on reviewing, and please do let me know if this chapter/story is getting boring, 'cause I'm worried that they are, so let me know if you do think so and I can try and get more action in! Anyway, I hope you like it, enjoy!**

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><p>Tom stood in his kitchen, tending to a frying pan full of eggs and bacon for breakfast. Giovanna poured out mugs of coffee for Danny and Harry, who were sitting at the counter. Dougie was still asleep in the living room, he had been pretty wasted the night before, from a few too many drinks – or so the others thought – and had passed out on the sofa almost as soon as they had carried him in through the front door. None of them had wanted to wake Dougie, he was still having difficulty sleeping so they thought he could use the rest for the time being, especially considering that today was the day that the stitches were finally being removed from his hand, meaning another trip to the hospital. Tom wasn't sure whether he or Dougie was dreading more. Harry sighed, looking up from his cup of coffee, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand.<p>

"Hangover?" Danny asked, glancing over.

"We've got some painkillers upstairs if you want?" Giovanna asked, smiling a smile that was slightly too perky for anyone other than her to have the morning after a night drinking.

"Nah, it's fine, it's not that," Harry said, "It's just, did Dougs seem a bit, well, off to you guys last night?"

Danny looked at him confused, "Mate, he's been off for a while now, what d'you mean?"

"Yeah, no, I know, not like that though… I don't know, it's probably nothing," Harry said, wishing he'd thought through what he was getting at before he started speaking.

Since returning to his friends from that eventful cigarette break, Dougie had spent the night getting progressively more drunk, particularly fast, in an attempt to mask the effects of the weed so that his friends would not notice, and to try and relax about the little baggie that he had in his pocket. It worried him the amount that those couple of drags of Veronica's joint had seemed to help him to relax, even just a little, how he found himself slipping into laughing and joking with his friends, his mind too fuzzy to have room for much at any one time, to have room for his thoughts getting in the way of the moment. Though the others did not seem to notice, this shift in his friend's behaviour had bothered Harry, seeing it as so out of what had now become character for Dougie.

"He seemed fine to me, mate," Danny said, "Better than usual, actually,"

Harry shrugged. Maybe it was just him, but it had seemed out of place. All Harry wanted to do was to talk to Dougie, to really talk with him, to have Dougie let him in, even just the tiniest bit, to what was going on inside his head. But he decided to let it go, for the time being at least. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Dougie seeming alright last night really was just Dougie getting better. Everyone else had enough to deal with right now without him worrying about something that possibly wasn't even something to worry about.

Having eaten, and seeing that it was now only an hour away from Dougie's impending hospital appointment, Tom decided the time had come to wake Dougie up. Or at least attempt to, Dougie was never the easiest to wake. Tom made his way into the living room, a cup of coffee in hand for his sleeping friend, over to where Dougie was passed out on the couch, still in his clothes from the night before, a blanket placed over him with his head resting on throw cushions. Placing his hand gently on Dougie's shoulder, Tom nudged it, repeating Dougie's name. After a few seconds, Tom realised this subtle tactic was pretty much guaranteed not to work, eventually settling on taking his iphone out of his pocket, and setting off the alarm on the loudest volume. Dougie jolted awake, clutching his head, his vision cloudy and the world spinning slightly.

"What the fuck, dude?" Dougie mumbled, rubbing his eyes. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool, and his mouth was so dry it was difficult to open it to speak.

"Sorry," Tom said, laughing sheepishly, "Had to get you up though, dude, you're getting those stitches out in an hour or so," He finished, handing Dougie the cup of coffee and a peace offering, careful not to mention the word hospital, however much it was implied. He tried to focus on the positives, the stitches coming out meant that his hand was finally healing.

Dougie groaned, a look of mild terror coming across his face, eyes wide and the blood drained from his face. Fuck, he thought, more repercussions of his own stupidity. Getting the stitches out from where he fucked up his hand. He wished with every fibre of his being that he could go back in time and not have punched that mirror. With everything that had happened, that, Dougie thought, was probably his biggest mistake, the thing he regretted having done the most. Up until last night, that was… The events of the previous night unfolding in his head as he thought of it, memories of Veronica, of her pristine skin and perfect lips, of what she had given him, and of what he had bought from her. Maybe no one would have to know, maybe he could hide it from them. He didn't even have to smoke the contents of the baggie, he could just throw it away, and they would never have to know.

He still wasn't sure what to make of it, not really. Had it not been for fear of being found out and knowing his friends would not approve, Dougie thought he would most likely not have thought twice about smoking the weed. It had, seemingly, calmed him down so much the previous night, faster than alcohol would have done, and far more effectively than any cigarette could. But it was bad, it was illegal for one, if anyone saw that he was smoking it, then that would be a point of no return, they wouldn't stand for it, it wouldn't be okay. However, for now at least, Dougie pushed that out of his head, focusing on his more immediate fears: the hospital.

Finishing his coffee, and feeling slightly more alive, Dougie got up to get changed to go to the hospital, realising he was still wearing what he wore the night before, relieved, in a way, to discover the baggie was still safely tucked away from watchful eyes within his pocket. He made his way up to the spare room, which had more or less become his room in the last couple of weeks, and took out some clothes, stuffing the weed down the side of his half-packed backpack, knowing it would be unlikely for anyone to look there. He would figure out what to do with it later.

Half an hour later, dressed in black jeans and a green t-shirt, Dougie was ready, or as ready as he could be for the hospital, downstairs, and about to leave. It had been agreed that just Tom would take him to the hospital, Dougie not wanting to psych himself out by having too many people there. After wishes of good luck from the others, Dougie and Tom made their way to Tom's car for the drive to the hospital.

Dougie was silent the entire drive. It worried Tom quite how quiet Dougie was, he knew he was scared, but he had thought that after the apparent improvement last night that things might have been starting to get better. Perhaps there had been some merit to what Harry had said earlier, perhaps last night hadn't been the step in the right direction him and Danny had hoped it had been.

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked it, please review, it makes me smile every time I read one :D. Sorry this chapter was so short and filler-y, the next one will be better (I think, at least :P), I promise!<strong>


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello! I'm so, so sorry it's taken me this long to update, I can only apologize. I've been having a bit of a crisis with my course at uni, and then I had a friend from home come stay with me to go see Brand New (who were absolutely amazing, I hadn't gotten a chance to see them live in like 4 years!). I _should _be back to more frequent updates, although I have quite a lot of work to catch up on this week so I don't want to make any promises!**

**Anyway, I hope this chapter was worth the wait, I'm happier with it than I was with the last one at least. Please review to let me know what you think, it means so much to me to know that people are reading (and enjoying!) this, so as always thank you to everyone reading and reviewing so far, please keep them coming :D. **

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><p>"Hi, my friend has an appointment to get his stitches removed, Dougie Poynter?" Tom asked the receptionist at the hospital, Dougie standing next to him, trembling slightly.<p>

"Okay, if you just take a seat, Dr Anderson will be right with you," The receptionist smiled, her foundation crinkling into the creases round her lips.

"Thanks," Tom replied, taking Dougie's hand and leading him over to the waiting room, sitting him down on one of the blue plastic chairs.

Tom hated how accustomed he had become to this hospital, having never been there before and then twice within as many weeks. It had seemed like so much longer than that since Dougie's incident, as Tom called it, with the mirror, so much had happened. It saddened Tom to see how fast his friend's mental state had deteriorated. Just a month ago, he had seemed fine, though Tom was slowly realising that Dougie's underlying depression may have been there for longer than he cared to think. He couldn't bare the thought of Dougie suffering, battling with his own mind for all this time without having told anyone.

Sat beside Tom, Dougie stared at his hands, willing them to stop shaking, his stomach gripping in on itself, the pounding of his heart reverberating through his body so loudly he was sure it must have been easily audible to Tom. So much of his time seemed to be spent in places he didn't want to be lately, sitting on unfamiliar chairs in uncomfortable spaces. Dougie sighed, moving his left hand up towards his dusty blonde hair, twisting strands between his shaking fingers as a small child might.

"Mr Poynter?" A voice came from a door the other side of the room, Tom looking up to see Dr Anderson walking towards them.

"Yep," Tom replied for Dougie, Dougie staying as silent and as still as possible, trying to shrink into his chair in the vain hope he could disappear from the room.

"Right this way, please," Dr Anderson continued, gesturing to a corridor on the left.

Tom nodded, tapping Dougie lightly on the shoulder, "Dougs? Come on, this way," He said, tentative, trying not to startle Dougie.

Dougie shook his head, staring at the floor, muttering something that was incoherent to Tom.

"Come on, dude, please?" Tom pleaded, hoping Dougie could overcome his fears, just this once.

"W-w-w-will you c-c-c-come w-w-with m-me?" Dougie stuttered, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet Tom's, his head still facing down.

"Of course I will, mate. Come on, lets go," Tom said, taking Dougie's hand and helping him to his feet, almost before Dougie had the chance to really realise what was happening.

Walking through the hospital, still with Dougie's hand in his, Tom felt his friend tremble in fear. Tom never had been able to really understand Dougie's hospital phobia, though never before seemed even nearly as bad as it did today. Dougie inched his feet forward, practically being dragged along by Tom, down the corridor, following Dr Anderson, while staring at his feet as the moved against the white tiled floor. He didn't want to look up, he didn't want to see how long the corridor went on for. He didn't want to be in the hospital any longer than he had to, but the longer he took in the corridor, the longer it would take to get to the surgery room, and that part of the hospital was ten times scarier than the corridor leading there. The route to whatever room they were going to seemed to last forever, Dougie feeling sure they were taking him to the room furthest away just to torture him more so. An unfamiliar sound pierced the near silence of the corridor. Dougie froze, Tom jolting to a halt with him, casting his eyes apologetically at Dr Anderson.

"Dougs? Come on, what is it?" Tom asked.

Dougie stayed silent, trying to work out what he had heard. It seemed to be a somewhat mechanical sound, clanking, whirring almost, with footsteps and beeping, rushing through the corridor into his ears. Tom kept his eyes fixed on Dougie, trying to figure out what was wrong, and what he could do. He saw Dougie lift his head, staring down the corridor, towards where the sound had come from. Into Dougie's field of view came three doctors, pushing along a gurney with what appeared to be an unconscious patient, hooked up to a number of apparatus, the source of the sounds. Tom followed Dougie's eye line, gripping onto his friend's hand, which was now shaking violently, even tighter than before when he saw what he had seen, knowing this was likely to set Dougie off.

Dougie's mind went blank. He couldn't think, too overcome by fear and panic to think through what was happening or what he was doing. Ripping his hand free from Tom's firm grasp, Dougie took off running down the hallway, back to where he had just come. He ran as fast as his legs would allow him to, trying his best to breathe as he ran, short spurts of air being all that would enter his lungs. He reached the automatic doors leading from the waiting room to the car park, shooting through them, before leaning to rest against the side of the building, catching his breathe through his hyperventilation.

What the hell was he doing? He couldn't just run out of the hospital like that, could he? Could he leave? No, the stitches, he had to get them out, didn't he? But he couldn't go back, not after that, not after he'd freaked out and ran the whole way outside. In a way, he wished he'd just stayed inside, got over it and stayed put, because however hard that may have been, he was pretty sure it would be easier than finding the courage to go back inside after leaving.

"Dougie? Dougie! What the hell happened?" Tom shouted, running out of the hospital door after him, catching sight of Dougie.

Dougie looked upon at his friend's voice, his eyes rimmed red with tears of shame and panic. He opened his mouth to try to speak, to try and explain, but all that would come out were shallow gasps, his body trying desperately to get air into his lungs. Tom's eyes focused in on the state Dougie had gotten himself into, his heart sinking, wishing he could take back the tone he had used to berate his friend with just seconds ago.

"Oh, shit, Dougs. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you, it's just, well, you scared the shit out of me back there, dude," Tom said, reaching his hand out to Dougie's trembling shoulders.

Dougie sniffled, raising his hand to his eyes to wipe away some of the stray leaking tears dripping down his face, "P-p-p-please don't make me go back inside," He whimpered, more tears flooding from his eyes faster than he had a chance to wipe them away.

"Oh, Dougs, it's okay, come here," Tom whispered, wrapping his arms around Dougie and pulling him into a hug, "It's alright, sshhh, sshhh. We can wait here for a minute, we don't have to go back in until you're ready," Tom said, knowing that it wasn't true. Dougie may never be ready to go back inside the hospital, but the stitches did need to come out, so he would have to be at least vaguely ready at some point soon.

At first, Dougie flinched away from Tom's hug, before eventually relaxing slightly into it. He didn't deserve this, he thought, he didn't deserve to have such understanding friends to pander to his problems. He wondered if Tom would still be acting this way if he knew what Dougie had done last night, how he had lied to all of them, if only by omission. How he had not told them about Veronica, or the drugs, or, the worst part of all, that he was coming to realise he had actually kind of enjoyed the effects of the weed. In that moment, a fleeting moment, Dougie wished that he could smoke some now, if just to keep off his nerves for long enough to get his stitches out. He shunned the thought to the back of his mind, slightly disgusted at himself for even thinking in such a way.

"So this is because of the hospital bed being wheeled out?" Tom ventured, rubbing Dougie's back, thinking it might be some help to Dougie to analyse through what had scared him.

Dougie nodded, breaking away from Tom's hug, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it, trying to calm himself down now he had regained his ability to breathe. He didn't want to talk. He couldn't talk, he was scared of what he might say. Yes, the gurney had set him off, caused his panic attack, but if he wasn't already so on edge then maybe he would have been alright with it. It had been more a tipping point, allowing everything to come out in one brief opening of the floodgates. All his panic and anxiety about everything, about how he was feeling, about his depression, about the disassociation, and about the drugs, all channelled into the one tangible phobia.

"Do you want to talk about it, dude?" Tom asked, trying to look Dougie in the eye.

Dougie just shrugged. It wasn't even that he didn't want to talk about it, he just didn't want to talk at all. He wanted time alone, enough time for his brain to process what had happened before, what was happening all the time, before he had to translate that into words. But he knew that wouldn't be a good idea, he knew himself well enough, especially now, to know that being left alone for extended periods of time, however much it may seem like a great idea, was likely to end in disaster. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette, as if trying to breathe in some sort of clarity through the tobacco and nicotine.

As he felt himself begin to calm down, Dougie felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Fuck, he'd just freaked out, properly freaked out, and run out of a hospital whilst crying. Run out of a hospital that he would, realistically, have to go back into at some point. He felt himself shudder at the thought of what he had done, and then shudder further at the thought of what he had seen to make him run in the first place. A body on a bed, an unconscious body on a bed, hooked up to wire and machines, all sorts of things poking out of that person's body, which they had absolutely no control over. Dougie felt nauseous at the picture in his minds eye, trying to block it out, like he had to do with most of his thoughts lately.

"Seriously, Dougs, this isn't just about the hospital, is it? What's up with you today?" Tom asked, his voice still treading delicately.

Yet more panic hit Dougie. Did Tom know? Did he know what happened last night? Oh god, could he have gotten so drunk last night that he'd told Tom himself? No, no was ridiculous, the weed was still in his pocket this morning, Tom didn't know about it, he couldn't. But then how could he tell something was wrong? Was something even wrong? Other than the usual, of course, that was. Aside from the stress it was causing him, that little plastic pouch seemed more and more appealing with every panic stricken thought that filled his head. Maybe, just maybe, when he got home he could have a little bit of it. What would a little bit hurt? As long as no one found out. He wouldn't even have to lie to the guys, because it wouldn't be lying, not really. It would just be sidestepping the truth for their own protection, to stop them from getting upset. That was okay, right?

But Tom was already on to him, sort of, Dougie thought. He was already concerned, though unduly concerned as Dougie saw it. He had everything sorted out, at least he thought he did now. He would go back in the hospital, he would be brave, he would convince Tom that everything was fine, and then he would go home, and find a way to smoke his little bit of weed. It was just a little, after all. Dougie mind filled full of contradictions, full of anxiety and the unknown. He wanted to come clean, to tell Tom the truth, to throw away the drugs and Veronica's phone number and never think about it again, but he couldn't bring himself to. He knew his plan was a terrible idea, on some level, that was so immensely clear to him, but on the other hand, and on every other level, it seemed like the easiest option, the one where no one but himself got hurt. And after all, it was better to hurt himself than his friends, surely.

"No, it's, um, it's fine, dude," Dougie said, taking another drag of his cigarette and trying to smile, rubbing his eyes to make sure no tears were still there.

Tom looked at Dougie, eyebrows raised in a questioning fashion, "Really? Dude, you were freaking the fuck out like five minutes ago, and now you're fine?"

Dougie gulped, hoping it wasn't audible, trying to keep his composure, "Um, yeah, I guess. Sorry. I can go back in now, I'm okay," Dougie said, swallowing his pride and flicking the end of his cigarette into the car park.

Tom's eyes widened in disbelief, this didn't seem right. This wasn't like Dougie. Even before any of this had even started, Dougie had hated hospitals, he'd never gone into one willingly, even when he broke his foot a few years ago he had tried to convince them all he was fine, he had refused to visit a doctor until they had all but carried him through the hospital doors. But, if Dougie was going to do this willingly, then who was Tom to stop him? It certainly would make it easier to get the stitches out.

"Alright then," Said Tom, smiling slightly, "Well done, dude, proud of you," Tom reached out his hand for Dougie's to lead him back inside, making sure he wouldn't go back on his sudden decision.

Dougie took Tom's hand, staying silent on the walk back through the sliding doors. Once inside the hospital, and about to let go of Dougie's hand, Tom felt the familiar tremble of fear emulating from his friend, squeezing on the shaking hand to try and calm Dougie down again. He knew it was too good to be true, of course Dougie was not over his phobia, but just putting on a brave front. However, if a brave front meant Dougie could get his stitches out, then Tom would go with it. He would just have to talk to Dougie properly about it once they were home.

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked it! Please review, as always all comments, criticisms, suggestions, etc are very welcome.<br>Chapter 21 will be up soon! **


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello! Here's chapter 21. I'm really sorry this has taken so long to upload, I wanted to get it up a couple of days ago but I've had loads of uni work this last week. I always feel like when it's taken me more than a couple of days to get the chapter up then it had better be good to make it worth the wait, though I'm not sure if this one is :P. Please review to let me know what you think, and thank-you as always to all you lovely people reading and reviewing so far :D. **

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><p>"Is it done yet?" Dougie asked, his eyes clamped shut, one hand clutching onto Tom's, the other being seen to by Dr Anderson.<p>

"Just one minute," The doctor replied, dabbing the area around the wound with a piece of gauze before re-covering the area with a bandage "There we go, Dougie. See not so bad, was it?"

Dougie opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows at Dr Anderson, "Maybe not for you," He said, sarcastically.

Tom smiled, pleased at least that Dougie was making a joke rather than sat terrified as he had been. He felt Dougie's grip loosen on his hand and let go, patting Dougie gently on the shoulder.

"Are we done then?" Tom asked Dr Anderson, eager to get Dougie back somewhere he felt more relaxed. Though Dougie's brave front had seemed to get him through the procedure, he still looked far from happy to be within the hospital walls.

"I think so, yes," Dr Anderson replied, "Just treat it like a normal wound, change the dressings every other day, keep it covered at all times, and keep it dry. It should heal up in no time, shouldn't even scar too badly. And do come back and see me if anything looks out of the ordinary."

"There better not be anything out of the ordinary," Dougie muttered.

Tom hit him gently on the shoulder, "Stop it, Dougs, he's just trying to help you," Tom turned to face Dr Anderson, "Sorry, he just really uncomfortable in hospitals, as you, um, saw earlier,"

"Oh that's quite alright," Dr Anderson smiled, "Quickly, before you leave, did you take my advice on finding a therapist?"

Dougie felt himself blush at the mention of his therapy sessions. He didn't know quite why it embarrassed him so much, but it felt strange having someone he didn't know at all, and someone that at this precise moment he didn't particularly like, enquiring into such a personal matter.

"Yeah, yeah we did," Tom answered, seeing Dougie's cheeks flushed red and his eyes averting any contact, "It's going pretty well," He added, trying to hurry the conversation to an end.

"Well, that's good," Dr Anderson smiled, "Here, take my card, if you do need to bring Dougie back in, call me directly and we can try to make arrangements for a home visit," He said, passing Tom the small rectangular business card, "In some cases, the undue stress from hospital visits can be avoided," He finished, lowering his voice slightly and taking Tom to the side.

"Uh, I can still here you over here, y'know?" Dougie said, rolling his eyes, "I'm fine really."

"Sorry, dude," Tom said, walking back over to Dougie's side and handing him his jacket from the back of the chair, "Come on, let's get home, yeah?"

Dougie nodded, a little too keenly, he realised after, for his brave façade, though he didn't really care. They were finally, after what had seemed like one of the longest hours of his life, leaving the hospital. Dougie slipped his jacket on and stood up.

"Take care of yourself now, Dougie. I hope I don't have to see you back here again anytime soon," Dr Anderson smiled as they left the room.

"Yeah, that makes two of us, dude," Dougie replied. He didn't mean to be rude, he was in part only joking to try and lighten the tension he had caused earlier, but there was a fair bit of truth to what he was saying too. The less time he had to spend in hospitals, the better.

Walking out through the hospital, Dougie felt considerably calmer, though it was an uneasy calm, still somewhat on alert for anything that could be possibly terrifying. They made their way down the endless corridor, which seemed shorter now, Dougie cringing at the memory of his previous actions. Why did he keep doing this? Making stupid decisions time after time after time? He thought the rational part of his brain would have figured out how to intervene by now, but apparently not, hence his earlier episode, hence the bag of weed hidden away at Tom's house, and hence why he was ever at the hospital in the first place. Thinking of the drugs made Dougie's heartbeat race, from fear of being caught, and his indecisiveness about what to do. There was also the other side though, the part of him that felt some twisted sort of excitement about having the secret, having something that was just his, that, judging by his previous experience, had the ability to lift his depression, even if just temporarily and in a way that, on some level, Dougie knew was not healthy.

Tom slowed his walking pace, noticing Dougie was lagging behind. He turned round to see Dougie walking slowly, as though he was physically thinking about having to move one foot in front of the other, biting on his lower lip, his eyes glazed over, looking deep in thought. A moment of fear gripped Tom as he saw Dougie's blue eyes glassy, like they were when Dougie wasn't really there. Tom froze, unsure of what to do. Only Harry had been able to talk Dougie down from a dissociative episode, and Tom felt, once again, so far out of his depth. When did their friendship come to be this? To being about looking after Dougie, making sure he doesn't do anything he'd regret, to talking him out of panic attacks and talking him back down to Earth, to fixing problems that should never have been there. It wasn't that Tom minded looking after Dougie, of course not, he would have done so regardless of whether any of this was happening to Dougie or not, but sometimes he just wanted to have his friend back, carefree and childlike as he had once been, rather than a helpless shadow of the Dougie that he knew, who must be buried so far underneath depression and anxiety he could barely see the light any more.

"Dougs?" Tom ventured, hoping beyond hope that Dougie hadn't drifted too far off shore.

"Hmm?" Dougie replied, snapping out of his thoughts.

"You alright? You, um, you seemed a little distant," Tom asked, relieved to see that Dougie appeared to be okay.

"No, yeah, I'm fine, sorry, just, uh, just thinking, I guess," Dougie rambled, a little too fast to be fully convincing to Tom.

"Oh, okay," Tom replied, not wanting press it further for fear of getting into anything in the hospital. Dougie wasn't disassociating, whatever he was thinking about could wait before Tom questioned it, "Come on, I thought you'd want to get out of here as quick as possible, dude."

Dougie smiled, glad that Tom seemed oblivious to his preoccupied mind, filled of impossible decisions that had to be made eventually. Realizing where he was and how slow he was dawdling, Dougie picked up his walking and sped out of the hospital, Tom power walking along behind to keep up. As they got outside, Dougie pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, stopping just outside of the sliding doors.

"Is it alright if I have a cigarette before we get in the car?" Dougie asked, knowing Tom didn't particularly appreciate people smoking within his Mini.

"Yeah sure," Tom replied.

"I'll be quick," Dougie said, feeling bad about making Tom wait around outside with him. He took out a cigarette to put in his mouth, glancing down at the pack and seeing he was down to his last two, "Uh, can we stop at a shop on the way back? I've only got a couple left," He asked.

Tom nodded as Dougie lit the cigarette perched between his parted lips, watching his friend look like he was beginning to truly relax for the first time all day. Tom wondered, as he watched Dougie smoke, how long it would be before he got his Dougs back from where it was hidden. Though it filled him with guilt to think it, Tom didn't know how much more of this he could take before completely breaking down. He knew he had to pretend to know what to do, to pretend everything was going to be okay, but honestly, Tom had no idea if Dougie would, or in fact could, ever be the same as he was back then. So much had changed, almost everything about Dougie had changed into a fragmented, alternative-reality version of his Dougie, standing right before his eyes, the process of the change having gone largely unnoticed until it seemed all but too late for anything to be done to fix it; or anything easy, at least. There would be no quick fixes here that Tom could see.

Dougie inhaled on his cigarette, the events of the day still very much at the forefront of his mind. He could barely make sense of his actions himself, and could only imagine how they must have seemed to Tom. He knew Tom would want to talk to him, everyone was so concerned with getting him to talk lately, but how could he explain to them if he couldn't even understand what he was doing himself? There were only two people he would possibly want to talk to, the parts of him wanting to talk to them both taking up polar opposite sides of his brain. On the one hand, he wanted to talk to Julia, so he could ramble through what was going on without worrying about concerning anyone he cared about, to try and make sense of everything so he could talk through what was going on with his friends after, to help them to understand. And then, on the other hand, he just wanted to forget everything, to drown out his thoughts through drinking, or smoking weed, or taking or doing just about anything else that would make his brain shut the hell up and leave him alone, and that would mean talking to Veronica. Beautiful, enigmatic Veronica, who Dougie knew was bad news in every possible interpretation of the phrase, but who he still could not get out of his head. He knew the others would not approve of her, of course he did, why should they approve of someone with the potential to lead him so far astray? But right now, that was what Dougie wanted, to try something new, to be someone new, if he couldn't get out of this rut he found himself stuck in any other way.

Finishing off his cigarette, Dougie flicked the end out into the car park, and he and Tom began walking towards the car, the sound of footsteps on concrete being all to break the silence. Truth be told, Dougie hadn't even noticed the quiet until there was the sound of their walking to emphasise the lack of communication. He glanced over at Tom, seeing him looking fairly absorbed within his own thoughts as well. It struck Dougie, seeing Tom so deep within his head, that perhaps he was being selfish, acting the way he was, telling his friends that things were fine when they quite obviously were far from it. He wished he could act fine, so they would have nothing to worry about, so that he could sort everything out on his own. After all, they were his problems, why should his friend have to sacrifice so much of their time and energy on him? Why did he have to cause so much of a scene about everything? Why couldn't he just suck it up and get on with things? He was pathetic, Dougie thought, absolutely pathetic, entirely undeserving of the concerns of his friends. They could do so much better than him.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked the chapter! The next one should hopefully be up within a couple of days.<br>Also, I don't know if anyone reading this wants someone to beta their stories, but I filled out the beta reader profile thing the other day, 'cause it seemed like something I'd like to do, so if anyone would be interested in me beta-ing their stories, please let me know! **


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello! Here's chapter 22, without a ridiculously long wait for once :D. Thank-you so much as always to everyone reading and reviewing, I really can't tell you how much your reviews mean to me, please keep them coming, I love knowing what you all think, and they make me so absurdly happy when I read them. It's lovely to know that people are actually taking the time to read and comment on my story! **

**Quick warning, this chapter contains drug use.**

**Enjoy! **

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><p>Stretching across to the bedside table, Dougie picked up his phone to check the time. 7:54am. Too early, definitely too early, but Dougie had been asleep for a long time. He'd managed to get out of talking after getting back from the hospital yesterday by saying he was tired, worn out from the panic attack, and spent the evening lounging on the sofa watching movies with the guys, before excusing himself to go to bed. The day hadn't been too bad, after the hospital, just chilling out with his friends, with little to bother him, his mind too numb from going into overdrive those few hours before. He hadn't decided what to do with the weed; he was too exhausted to make any sort of decisions yesterday, instead suppressing the thought until he was better equipped to deal with it.<p>

Realising that he had been asleep for ten hours already, Dougie rubbed his eyes and pushed back the covers, ready to attempt to start the day. Tom and Gio were still sleeping, probably, and Dougie didn't want to wake them. Danny and Harry had spent the night in their own houses. Dougie wondered when he would be able to sleep in his own bed again, in his own house, thinking it would probably be quite a long time before Tom, or the other for that matter, were going to let him move back out to where he could not be kept watch of. Though Dougie knew his friends did not mean to make it so, at times it felt like he was in a high-security prison on suicide watch, his every move being monitored and analysed to evaluate his mental state, with little care taken to ensure him any semblance of privacy. Dougie appreciated that he was worrying his friends with how he was acting, that they were only trying to look after him, to make him better, but however well meaning the intention may have been didn't make it feel any less stifling.

Dougie pulled on a pair of crumpled, grey tracksuit bottoms, and the t-shirt he had been wearing the previous day, the closet items of clothing he could reach, scrunched on the floor next to the bed. He ran his hands though his hair, feeling it limp and greasy beneath his fingers. It really needed a wash, but there was absolutely no part of him that could be bothered to shower this morning. What did it matter, anyway? Who did he have to look, or smell, decent for? He made his way out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen, careful not to be too loud, careful not to wake Tom or Gio. He knew it was probably not a good idea for him to be alone in the house so early in the morning, especially after what had happened last time he'd woken up before everyone, but he still felt he needed the time to himself, the only time it looked like he would be getting to himself for the foreseeable future. It would only be about an hour or so until Tom woke up anyway, what could go wrong in an hour?

Dougie filled the kettle and put it on to boil, before making himself a cup of tea, his only real routine in the morning. He took his drink through to the living room, placing it on the coffee table to cool slightly, sitting himself down on the sofa, his knees curled up, and switching on the TV, flicking through channels for something decent to watch. It baffled Dougie how that with over 500 channels, there was still not really anything worth watching on. He settled on a re-run of Top Gear, the volume turned down, not really paying attention to what was going on onscreen, not really paying much attention to anything. In a way, Dougie preferred it when he was like this, distant from the world, sleepy-headed, walking though not quite awake, a strange hazy clarity. It was easier than having to think, it was easier than having to get better, and it was far, far easier than any of the crippling feelings of depression that could reel him in with the simplest of hooks.

Sipping on his tea, Dougie felt his familiar morning nicotine craving kick in, as it always did when he was about halfway through his first cup of tea of the day. Sighing, he set the mug down, unravelling himself from the ball he had curled himself up into, and pulled himself off the sofa, before making his way upstairs in search of his cigarettes. Inside the bedroom, Dougie rooted around, trying to find where he had left them the previous night, eventually spying them on the bedside cabinet. Just as he was about to lave the room to go outside for his morning smoke, Dougie felt his mind wonder to the bag of weed, making his way over to the backpack and taking it out of the side pocket, safe in the knowledge that he was the only one awake, and that no one would see him. What harm could looking do? He stared at the pouch, green, dried clusters of leaves, speckled with a fine white dust, and splattered with tiny, orange sprouts. The patterns the little leaves formed when clumped together as they were was oddly mesmerising. Dougie reached back into the backpack, pulling out a pack of rolling papers he had bought the previous day when he had bought his cigarettes, in case he did decide to smoke it. What harm could it do? It would to ages before anyone was awake, and if he was going to do it without being noticed, now would be more or less his only chance.

Shoving the weed and rolling papers into his pocket, his cigarettes and lighter still in hand, Dougie rushed downstairs, slipping his shoes on, and out the front door, leaving it on the latch so he could get back in. Adrenalin was pumping through his body, excitement, fear, apprehension, and an unidentifiable cocktail of other feelings, all compelling him towards smoking it. Why not? It's not like the day would be a good day regardless, why not at least try to make it slightly more bearable. Dougie sat on the steps, his hands shaking tremendously as he took the pouch of weed and rolling papers out of his pocket. He looked around, nervously, praying there would be no one around to see what he was about to do, be it his friends, or anyone who may recognise him, or the police, or even innocent bystanders, entirely oblivious. He didn't want anyone to see, he wanted to keep this his one little secret, the last tiny shred of his life that could be purely his.

Opening up the blue packet of rolling papers, Dougie took one out, thin and fragile, resting it on his knees. He'd rolled cigarettes before, this couldn't be that different, could it? He thought back to Veronica's joint the other day, trying to picture how her one was rolled, how it looked and how it felt. He knew it had tobacco in it, so he ripped open a cigarette, sprinkling some of the tobacco flakes out onto the open rolling paper, He hands shook more violently as he reached for the baggie, feeling his palms moist with cold sweat. He opened the zip-lock pouch, and took out a small pinch of the leaves, feeling them crumble slightly between his fingers. He sprinkled the tiny pieces on top of the tobacco, careful not to drop any, not wanting to fill the paper too much. Dougie zipped the pouch back up, and put in underneath his shoe so it would not blow away in the breeze before picking up the precarious, unrolled joint from his knees, fiddling the paper around between his fingers and thumbs until it was rolled into something that just about resembled a makeshift cigarette, licking the conical cylinder closed. He never had been particularly good at rolling, but it would do.

Once more, Dougie looked around, making sure no one was around to see him, shaking more than ever with excitement. The edges of a grin crept onto his face, nervous, yet relieved, that his choice had finally been made, be it for better or for worse, whatever the outcome, the agonising decision making process that had plagued his every thought was now over. He lifted the crumpled joint to his lips, holding it in place while he clicked his lighter flame. He inhaled, the rough smoke hitting the back of his throat, the lack of a filter at the end making the smoke far harsher than Dougie was used to. He tried to suppress the cough he felt building, smoke spluttering out of his mouth and nose. The familiar taste of tobacco mixed with the sweetness of the weed was an odd taste to have in his mouth so early in the morning, though not altogether unpleasant. Dougie held the joint to his lips once more, remembering to inhale more gently, pulling the smoke through the joint and into his lungs, before exhaling, cough-free.

"Doug? I didn't think anyone would be up, I brought bagels for breakfast and –" Dougie heard Harry's voice coming from down the road as he spluttered out another cough, the smoke getting stuck in his throat. Dougie stubbed the joint out, throwing it down the stairs in a panic, hoping Harry hadn't seen, feeling himself trembling in fear and the blood drain from his face.

Harry walked towards Tom's front door, a brown paper bag of bagels from the local bakery in hand. He'd been up for a few hours, and had given up on going back to sleep, instead deciding to bring round food for breakfast so that the others wouldn't be too annoyed at being woken up by him. As Harry approached, he knew something was amiss. Dougie face was white, his whole body shaking, fidgeting with something. Harry sped up, fearing that Dougie may have been about to disassociate. As he got closer, Harry saw Dougie throw something down the stairs, and saw a flash of guilt in Dougie eyes. What the hell was going on? Harry stopped when he reached the thrown object, picking up the still lit joint, smelling the smoke wafting through the air to his nose.

"Dougie… what the fuck is this? What the hell are you doing?"

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked the chapter! Sorry it's cliffhanger-y at the end, but the chapter wanted to end there so I let it... my writing just kind of does what it wants sometimes so I go with it. Also, I just want to apologize in advance if I don't update much this week, I have loads of work I need to do for uni, but I should be able to get at least one more chapter written and uploaded this week hopefully! Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter, and I'll get the next one up as soon as I can :D. <strong>


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello! Here's chapter 23. Sorry about the cliffhanger at the end of the last one, it wasn't intentional! This chapter is extra long so hopefully that will make up for it :P. This chapter's got more dialogue I think than most of the story so far, so I hope that's alright! Thank-you so much to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, I really can't tell you how much it means to me to get feedback on my writing, so please leave a review letting me know what you think! Enjoy :D.**

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><p>"Dougie, tell me what the fuck is going on," Harry repeated, his voice stronger, knowing full well what was happening but still in a state of total shock.<p>

Dougie, his Dougie, Dougie who, granted, wasn't in the best frame of mind at the moment, but Harry knew his best friend, and this was not him. This was still his Dougie, but his Dougie did not do drugs. Harry's mind raced at a thousand miles an hour, trying to make sense of the situation. He looked down, realising he still had the joint in his hand, staring at it in disbelief. He felt anger surging inside him, but couldn't bring himself to shout. Not that shouting would probably do much to help the matter, he thought. If Dougie had resorted to turning to drugs, pushing him further away wasn't going to make things any better.

Dougie shifted around uncomfortably, his eyes darting around for an escape route. This could not be happening. How had his timing been so horrendously bad? Maybe Harry didn't know what he was doing, Dougie thought, maybe Harry would be as naïve as he had been at the bar with Veronica. One look up at Harry's livid face told him that this was not the case. Harry knew exactly what was happening, and Dougie knew it. Doing the only thing he could think to do, Dougie pushed himself up from the step he was sitting on, and ran down the steps, ready to get as far away as he could rather than having to face up to what was happening.

"Don't you dare, Dougie," Harry said, as he stepped across to block Dougie's planned route, his voice firm, yet calm to an extent that surprised even himself.

Dougie tried to get around Harry, dodging from side to side, before realising it was futile. He felt his heart pounding, racing, making him light headed. What was he going to say? Would Harry tell the others? He'd have to, wouldn't he? Would they kick him out of the band? Would they even want to talk to him anymore? Oh god, what if he'd really fucked up, fucked up to the point that they didn't want to even be his friends anymore? Dougie didn't think he could handle that, losing his friends – they were all that was keeping him sane, or at least, as close to sane as he could be.

"Dougie, you need to sit down, you look like you're about to pass out," Harry said, his hand on Dougie's shoulder, leading him down onto the step he had been standing on. Harry knelt down in front of a seated Dougie, taking Dougie's hands in his.

"Dougie, look at me," Harry said, watching Dougie eyes shooting around everywhere, anywhere to avoid eye contact.

Reluctantly, Dougie relaxed, gazing straight ahead into Harry's eyes, seeing shock and anger radiating from his face. Harry looked back into Dougie's, fear and confusion being all to come through. Dougie wasn't himself, Harry told himself, over and over, Dougie wasn't himself. It was the only way Harry could even start to make sense of this, because Dougie, his Dougie would never have done this. Sneaking around, hiding things, doing drugs, that wasn't Dougie. This wasn't right, this couldn't be happening.

"Look, Dougs, I won't get angry, but you need to tell me what the fuck you think you're playing at here, okay?" Harry said, feeling like he was talking to a resentful teenager.

Dougie sighed deeply, taking out his packet of cigarettes and lighting one. The three hits of the joint Harry was still holding had done nothing to curb his nicotine craving, which had become worse with the stress of being caught. As Dougie lit his cigarette, Harry shot him an accusatory glance.

"It's just a cigarette, Haz," Dougie said, though Harry's glare did not subside, "Seriously, try it if you don't believe me, It's a cigarette," Dougie said, holding it out to Harry.

Harry knew it was just a cigarette, hell, it had come out of a cigarette packet, for Christ's sake, but he still could not help himself from reaching forward and taking a drag, and, satisfied with it's fully legal contents, handing it back to Dougie. Dougie rolled his eyes as the cigarette was returned to him. Well, if he was going to be treated like a child, he may as well act like one too. Harry took out his own cigarettes and lit one, before taking a seat next to Dougie on the stairs.

"Dougs, why won't you talk to me? Please, mate, just tell me what the hell is going on," Harry said, feeling himself close to tears. What would possess Dougie to do something so stupid? Why didn't Dougie feel like he could talk to Harry anymore?

Dougie just sighed again. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? He did because it was there? He did it because he thought it would make him feel better? He did it because he felt like it? But none of those were true, not fully at least. There was no way to explain why he had thought it would be a good idea, but he had done. It had seemed like such a good idea, like a solution that would fit the puzzle for which he had been searching for so long now.

"I… I don't know," Dougie said eventually, his eyes staring at the smoke emitting from his cigarette, avoiding Harry's attempts at eye contact.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Dougie, I'm trying here, I really am, I'm trying to help and I'm trying not to get angry, but what the fuck do you mean, you don't know?" He snapped, on the verge of his growing rage tipping over.

"I mean I don't know!" Dougie cried, "I mean I have no idea what the fuck is going on. I fucked up, Harry, I really fucked up, and I know that. Please don't hate me."

Harry sighed, seeing the pain his friend seemed to be putting himself through, "I don't hate you, Dougs. Don't be stupid. If I hated you, I wouldn't care, and if I didn't care, then I wouldn't be upset," He rationalised.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I even did it in the first place, I should never have done it and –"

"Dougie, don't lie to me," Harry said, his voice sombre, "You're not sorry you did it, you're sorry I found you out," He pinched the bridge of his nose again, digging his nails in to the skin to focus on anything other than the tears building in his eyes, tears of anger and sadness, fear for Dougie, terrified of quite how bad Dougie's mindset must have become if this is what he had chosen to do.

They sat in silence while they finished their cigarettes, Dougie unable to come up with an appropriate response. Harry was right, part of him still wanted to smoke it, to see what the fuss was even about. He was sorry that he'd had to make Harry see what he was doing, he was sorry that Harry now had that information within his head, and he was sorry that Harry would now be worrying about him more so. One thing Dougie was not sorry about, however, was his decision to smoke the weed. If no one had seen him, he wouldn't have given it a second thought before finishing the joint he had rolled himself.

"How long?" Harry asked, breaking the silence, once he was sure he had digested the shock of what was happening enough to speak.

"What?" Dougie replied.

"How long have you been smoking that stuff for? How often do you do it? How long have you been lying to us for?" Harry asked, his voice getting increasingly sterner with each question.

"What? God, no, dude, no. This was the first time. Well, the second, the first time on my own," Dougie said. No wonder, no wonder Harry had been so angry if he'd though this was just something that Dougie did, and had been doing for a while without their knowledge.

"Oh thank fuck," Harry sighed, relieved. This was not a big problem yet for Dougie, Harry could still nip it in the bud, before it ever even grew into anything. Harry had seen people he used to know, old friends from school and from back home, get messed up smoking too many drugs. He'd seen what it could do, seen how much it could change a person, and there was no way in hell he was going to sit by and watch while Dougie ventured down that path.

"Where did you even get it from?" Harry asked. Dougie had barely been out of their sight for the last three weeks.

Dougie paused in thought of what to say, "That night we went to the pub, I went out for a cigarette on my own, and I met someone outside who gave me a bit of their joint, and then sold me some," Dougie said, eventually, trying to stay as vague as possible, not wanting to mention Veronica, wanting to preserve the memory of her in his head without it being tainted.

"Where's the rest of it?" Harry asked, while cursing himself for having let Dougie go out on his own the other night. This was his fault, if he hadn't been so stupid as to leave Dougie on his own, knowing he was never safe on his own these days, then this would never have happened. How could he be too angry at Dougie when this was just as much his fault as it was Dougie's?

Dougie sighed, rubbing his eyes and fidgeting nervously with his hair, "On the stair," He said, pointing towards the little baggie, reluctant to tell, knowing that his chance to smoke it was now truly gone, "Harry, please don't tell Tom. Please. He worried enough as it is and –"

"Dougs, we all worry about you. What you mean is that Tom will be really fucking angry, isn't it?" Harry asked, only partially rhetorically.

Dougie nodded, "He just… he just wouldn't get it,"

"I don't get it either, though, Dougie," Harry reasoned, turning round to pick up the tiny plastic pouch, half the contents still contained therein. He held it, staring at it in his hand. Harry had smoked weed on a couple of occasions before, both while he was at school, in sixth form, experimenting as he and his friends did, as teenagers did. He sighed, shaking his head, realising that Dougie had never had the chance to rebel properly at the appropriate age. But he was too old for this. Dougie was twenty-three, he was past the time it was okay to be stupid enough to start getting mixed up in this shit. As much as Harry and the others liked to think of him as one at times, Dougie was not a child, he was an adult, who should know how to make better choices than this. But everyone makes mistakes sometimes; everyone had things they have done that they regret. Maybe this would just be one of Dougie's.

"You get it more than Tom would, though. And I'm not saying he worries more than you guys, but you know how he gets, Haz," Dougie pleaded.

Harry sighed, knowing that Dougie was right. Though he would never show it, at least not willingly, Tom was taking all this with Dougie particularly hard, believing that it was his responsibility, rather than Harry or Danny's, to look after Dougie, having always taken the father figure role with Dougie beforehand. But now this… it would be too much for Tom to handle, to bear the brunt of the responsibility for. Maybe this was just something the others didn't need to know. On the other hand, however, if Harry did not tell the others, and anything happened with Dougie as a result, Harry didn't think he'd be able to live with himself at that point. It was a difficult decision; to protect Tom from finding out what Harry knew could tip him over the edge, or to protect Dougie from any hypothetical dangers. Harry rubbed his eyes, wishing he didn't have to decide, and at the very least, that he didn't have to decide quite so early in the morning, especially while still somewhat in shock himself. But a decision needed to be made. They couldn't wait around outside all day. Tom would be awake soon, and Harry needed to work out what to do.

"Please Harry, please don't tell them," Dougie whispered, wishing things could have gone differently, wishing he had not been quite so stupid. Why this morning, why today? Why couldn't he have waited, tomorrow, the day after? Any day when Harry wouldn't be coming round the corner just a few brief seconds after he had lit the joint.

Staring at his twitching hands, Dougie pleaded silently with Harry, awaiting his decision, waiting for Harry to say something, anything, even if it was just to shout at him some more. The silence was killing him with every second that ticked past. Dougie looked up and glanced at Harry for some indication of what he was thinking, of what he would do, his bloodshot blue eyes begging at his friend, deep in thought.

"Alright," Harry said, eventually, slowly, thinking of each syllable as it left his lips, "I won't tell them, this can just be between us, for now. On some conditions,"

Dougie's eyes lit up with relief as he exhaled. The others wouldn't have to know, if the others didn't know, then maybe it would be something he could forget about. It could never have happened if no one knew.

"Anything, Harry. Seriously, anything," Dougie said quickly, not even caring what the conditions were.

"Dougie, you have to promise me you will never go near this shit again, okay?" Harry said, holding up the joint and the baggie, "And that this here is everything you had of it. I'm going to throw this away, and you're not going to think about it any more. And If I find out you've done it again, and if you do ever do it again, then trust me I will find out, I will… no, no, then _you _will tell the others." His voice was harsh as he listed off the requirements.

Dougie nodded, taking in what Harry was saying to him. For the others not to know, for him to be able to pretend this never happened, he would have to not do drugs again. He felt relieved in a way, relived that decisions were being made for him, and that his own misguided mind would not have to decide what was best for him for the time being. He knew how lucky he was that Harry had not flipped out, he knew how much worse this could have been for him, how much he was jeopardising, and yet still, some tiny, nagging corner of his brain screamed at him, screamed that he did not have to listen to Harry, screamed that he could nod and go along with it, and just be more careful next time not to get found out.

"I'm trusting you here Dougs, please don't make me regret that, okay mate?" Harry said, putting his hand on Dougie's shoulder, his eyes showing warmth to his friend for the first time that morning.

"Yeah, I won't. Thank-you, I promise, I won't do it again, ever," Dougie said, feeling a stab of guilt as he did so, wishing that he didn't feel as though he was lying, though he didn't know for certain that he was.

"You'd better not, mate," Harry smiled, though his voice very much serious, "And Dougs?" He added, forcing Dougie to look at him.

"Yeah?" Dougie replied.

"If you ever feel like doing this again," He said, gesturing to the weed once more, "You come find me, okay? Or call me, and I can talk you through. This is not a road you want to go down, Dougs, you know that right?"

Dougie rubbed his eyes, knowing that this wouldn't be over, not really at least, anytime soon, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks, man, I will," He said, his guilt rising with every word he spoke. Harry was being so understanding, and had kept to calm, that Dougie hated the fact that he didn't trust himself enough not to betray him. Harry clearly had more trust in Dougie's strength of will than he did himself. He was just going to have to try his hardest. Maybe it would be for the best if he ignored the part of his head telling him he should do it again, to do as Harry said. Or maybe he just had to be more careful. Either way, Dougie knew he could not let Harry find out if he did do it again, it would ruin any trust Harry had in him if he betrayed it. And he didn't want to betray it, he didn't want to have to put Harry through that. Dougie wished he could shout at his brain just as loud as it was shouting at him, to tell it to shut up, to go away and leave him alone, to let him get better and forget about everything that was going on, trying to break him, eating away at the fabric of his body and his mind.

"Okay," Harry said, putting his arm around Dougie for a one-sided hug, "Let's leave this for now, alright? Come on, how about breakfast?"

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked it, please review to let me know what you think, and I should be able to get the next chapter up within a couple of days!<strong>


	24. Chapter 24

**Hello! I'm so, so sorry it's taken me so long to update, I never meant to leave it this long, but I was on holiday last week, and I've had loads of work to catch up on since I've been back. Hopefully I should be back to updates every other day or so though now, I hope no-ones lost interest in this in the time it's taken me to get this chapter written! Thank-you as always to everyone reading and reviwing, I can;t tell you how much it means to me, so please leave me a review to let me know what you think! Enjoy :D.**

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><p>Slicing open a bagel, Harry glanced at the small production line of food; eggs waiting to be cracked into a frying pan, bacon in the oven, cheese sliced and placed out in a line next to the chopping board, bagels all ready to be toasted and put together into the breakfast sandwiches, one of the few recipes mastered in his rather limited culinary repertoire. Dougie had gone to get ready, still confused from earlier, still not really wanting to be made to talk anymore than he had done already. Tom and Gio were still asleep, though Tom never could sleep through the smell of bacon for long, so it would only be a matter of time before Harry had company in the kitchen. In a way, he wouldn't mind the company, but he felt he needed a chance alone, even if just for a short while, to reflect. He felt like he should be angry, or upset, or like he should be having some sort of extreme reaction to the discovery of Dougie doing drugs, but he couldn't. The truth was, he'd all but expected something like this to happen, it was only a matter of time before Dougie was lead astray down some dark path. He was angry with himself for not having been able to stop it before it happened, he was disappointed in Dougie's lack of better judgement, but in order for anything more extreme, the numbness surrounding the whole affair would first have to subside.<p>

Harry cracked the first egg into the hot frying pan, watching the butter melting in the pan heat up and bubble around the clouded gloop of uncooked egg-white. He tried to focus on cooking, to make his mind stop going round and round in the only circle it seemed to be capable of for the last half hour: was he making the wrong decision? By not telling the others, by taking all the responsibility of Dougie and the drugs onto himself, could he be putting Dougie's wellbeing in danger? Could he be falling into some sort of trick? That's what people on drugs did, wasn't it? Tricked people into getting their own way? The second the thought popped into Harry's head he felt disgusted with himself. How could he think like that? There was not a manipulative bone in Dougie's body, and Dougie was not an addict, not yet at least. Dougie was just a kid, or rather, an adult acting like a kid. Maybe trusting him was the best thing to do. He had promised, after all. He couldn't very well go back on his word now.

But what if Dougie did it again, and Harry didn't find out? Even though he'd told Dougie he would, and he thought he would be able to tell, he really didn't know what Dougie was capable of any more, and to what lengths Dougie might go to in order to hide things from him. What if something happened to Dougie, and Tom and Danny found out that Harry had known all along, found out that he'd had the chance to prevent whatever hypothetical potential dangers there may be. He couldn't let anything else happened to Dougie, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened and it was directly his fault. No, he couldn't let that happen. But then again, maybe nothing would happen. Maybe, like Dougie had said, this was just a one time thing, that nothing else would come of it, and that Dougie would forget all about drugs, and get back to relative normality, eventually.

Harry's thoughts turned to Tom, sleeping upstairs, and Danny, doing the same a couple of doors down the road, in their states of blissful ignorance. Is it better to know, or not to know? Harry longed to be able to have the events that had happened just minutes earlier erased from his mind, to be able to return to how things were, to put back on the rose-tinted glasses which he had been unknowingly viewing the world through. But if he didn't know, then he couldn't help, and he wanted to help Dougie, of course he did. It physically hurt Harry to see how Dougie had gotten himself, to see the state he had become, to see him drift off, disassociating, not knowing what he was doing, and to see what Dougie had been turning to for solstice. When Dougie was younger, Harry, as well as the others, had taken it upon themselves to protect Dougie from the world, to do everything his father wouldn't, to help Dougie transition from a kid into the adult he was forced to grow up into a bit too soon. Had they failed at that? Was this all their fault? The scent of bacon wafted through the air as Harry opened the oven door to check on it. As if on cue, Harry looked up to see Tom standing in the kitchen doorway, looking rather confused at the sight of Harry cooking breakfast in his kitchen.

"Morning, mate," Harry smiled, trying to act as though nothing was on his mind, "Dougs let me in, couldn't sleep so I went to the bakery earlier, thought I'd make breakfast,"

"Oh, I must have slept through the doorbell. Dougs is up?" Tom asked, still confused in his sleepy state.

"Yeah, he's in the shower," Harry replied, a slight quiver coming over his voice, hoping Tom was not yet on the ball enough to notice.

Tom nodded, picking up the pot of coffee to pour himself a cup, sitting down at the counter as Harry returned to cooking, putting another sliced bagel in the toaster.

"We've got that group therapy thing this afternoon, don't we?" Tom asked, mostly rhetorically as a way of reminding Harry, "Dougs has seemed a little better this week, don't you think? He hasn't, what's it called, disassociated much,"

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, he never had been very good at lying. He stared at the frying pan so he would not have to make eye contact with Tom, "Yeah, yeah he's doing okay, I think,"

Fuck. Fuck. The group therapy. Harry had forgotten about that. How was he going to sit there, sit there with everyone, trying to find a way to make things better for Dougie, with this secret looming over his head, clouding his vision of everything Dougie would be saying? Maybe he could just not go? Fain some sort of illness or something. No, he couldn't do that, it would look like he didn't care, and he did. It was all he cared about, really, his friends meant the world to him. Dougie needed him to be there, and, even more so, he needed to be there for Dougie. Maybe he could just listen, maybe he wouldn't be expected to do much talking.

"Shit," Harry muttered, realising he had been so lost in his thoughts that he'd stopped paying attention to the food cooking, seeing smoke coming from a burning bagel in the toaster. Tom stood up from the counter, making his way over to the stove to take over the cooking, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"And this, dude, is why you never cook. You even manage to burn toast," Tom said, popping the slightly charred bagel out, scraping off the burnt edges, and taking the eggs off the heat and the bacon out the oven, before beginning on constructing the sandwiches, all in one swift and fast movement. Harry watched on, wishing he wasn't so distracted, praying that Tom would just shake it off as Harry being a bit useless, not question anything further, not ask him what was on his mind to make his so distant. It occurred to him that this must be how Dougie felt, wishing he had someone to talk to but knowing that he couldn't. He had never thought of it that way before, never thought of how hard it must be for Dougie to stay so silent, to keep all his problems to himself.

"Breakfast smells good," Dougie said as he appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed in black jeans and white patterned t-shirt, running a small, dusky-blue towel through his hair, dripping wet still from the shower. The shower had made him feel better, vaguely normal even, once he had gotten up the energy to be bothered with it.

"Wouldn't have done if Tom hadn't taken over there," Harry laughed, pleased to see Dougie didn't seem to be acting strange around him, the last thing he wanted was to let the secret make Dougie feel uncomfortable around him. Maybe by keeping the secret, by earning Dougie's trust in this matter, would be the key to what was going on, his key to helping Dougie get better.

With the bagels built into towering breakfast sandwiches, places onto plates, Tom made his way over to the counter, pulling up a seat and putting a plate in front of both Harry and Dougie. Dougie picked his up immediately, biting into it ravenously, bright yellow egg yolk bursting out of the middle of the bagel and dripping down his chin. He felt like he could eat everything, never stop eating and yet never be full. Harry looked over towards him, seeing the speed at which he seemed to be devouring the sandwich. To start, Harry didn't think anything of it. It was not particularly out of the ordinary for Dougie to be eating fast, and table manners were never a priority, but something was different this morning. Harry thought back to the times at school he had known people smoke weed, to his friends sitting around, stoned out of their minds, eating everything and anything in sight. Harry felt his heart sink as he came to the realisation that this must be what was happening with Dougie, weed-induced munchies. He knew it shouldn't be a shock, he'd caught Dougie smoking it, after all, but there was something about seeing it's effects, however mild, that Harry found unsettling, making everything all the more real. He looked over to Tom, eating his own bagel, not thinking anything of Dougie's behaviours, though Harry supposed it was something no one would really see unless they were looking.

"I'll, um, I'll be back in a sec," Harry mumbled, pushing his chair out from the table and standing up. He needed to leave the room, to have some space, some time to think. He wasn't ready for this, he didn't know what to do. Though, would he ever? Was the shock of everything too much for him to handle on his own? Did he even have a choice anymore? Though he felt selfish in thinking it, Harry wished that Dougie had just taken a few minutes to consider what he was doing before he stared, to consider the impact it would have on Harry and the others when they found out. Maybe Dougie thought they never would find out. Or, maybe, thought Harry, maybe he didn't care. Harry shook the thought from his head, going with the former, hoping that the Dougie he knew wasn't too far gone to bring back.

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked the chapter, next one should be up soon! Please review and let me know what you think, any commentscriticisms/suggestions etc are very welcome!**

**Also, I started another Mcfly story that I uploaded last week, called Something to Hide, so if you haven't seen it already then please check it out, I should be updating that one fairly soon as well!**


	25. Chapter 25

***Dusts off cobwebs*... Hello! It's been a while, hasn't it? I don't know if anyone is still reading this story, but if you are, then I'm really sorry not to have updated this story in so long! I had pretty bad writer's block with what this chapter was meant to be, and then couldn't think of anything to do instead until I thought of this the other day. I hope you like it, it's a little different from the rest of the story, mostly just a lot of back story. Please leave a review to let me know what you think of it! I think I may have gotten past the writer's block, so I should be updating this again within the next couple of weeks or so :D. Enjoy.**

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><p>Dougie sat upstairs on his bed in the spare room, his legs crossed and his head resting in his hands, having a little time alone to think, before the group therapy session he was dreading so much. He thought back over what was happening, about what had happened with Harry, about Veronica, about everything that was going on in his head, about everything that had lead into this all happening, about that night at the bar, about the blanking out, about the depression he was trying to rid his mind of through drugs and drinking, and, at the back of everything, the overarching theme, he thought about <em>Her.<em>

Chloe. It was the first time in months he'd brought himself to be able to think her name. As soon as he did, memories of her came flooding back; the vanilla shampoo she used on her hair, the mango lip balm she used to wear, the way her hair felt just after she'd dyed it, her eyes, her smile, her legs, her voice. Her voice, he could hear it in his ears, replaying conversations they had and places they'd been.

Dougie sighed, running his hands through his hair. He needed a cigarette, but he didn't want to have to walk through the house and run the risk of bumping into someone and having to break from his thoughts. Slowly, Dougie pushed himself off the bed and knelt down next to the window, opening it wide, putting a cigarette to his mouth and lighting it, the smoke rushing outside into the wind, Surely Tom wouldn't mind him just smoking one inside. Tom would never have to know if he didn't walk in within the next six and a half minutes, anyway. He inhaled on the cigarette, savouring the taste of the tobacco as the nicotine calmed his nerves. Why was he so nervous? Was it because of Harry? Or was it the therapy session? Maybe it was both… or maybe it was neither.

It was weird, was what it was. It was like nerves unattached to any particular event, floating on their own alternative plane of existence. They were just there. Dougie began to realise, they had been there for a while. Whenever he thought of _her,_ of Chloe, he felt a pang of resentment, guilt, and fear hurtling through his stomach. Why did it still bother him so many months down the line? Was he not over her yet?

She had been everything to him, literally everything. There was a time when everything else would have gone on hold in a heartbeat if Chloe would have asked; the band, his friends, his career, everything. She had a hold over him, had his heart gripped tight within her perfectly manicured little hands, ready to scratch away at his insides until there was nothing left, no flesh, no organs, just a shell of a man, to serve only do as Chloe pleased. He never saw it until after they broke up, but everyone else did. Tom had never liked her, but was too nice to say anything. Danny was less tactful, and Chloe had somehow convinced Dougie not to talk to Danny until he had apologised to her. It took three weeks before Danny caved. It was then that Harry snapped, took Dougie aside and told him they were worried about him, told him that Chloe was no good for him, but Dougie was too wrapped up in her to see, blinded by his eyes wrapped around her little finger. They were together for nearly a year. A year of Dougie being trapped in a relationship he didn't want to be in, but couldn't see to find a way out of.

She'd snap at him too, of course. If something wasn't done right, if he left the lid off the toothpaste, or took longer than five minutes to reply to a text, or if she didn't get her own way, if Dougie didn't cave to pander to her every whim. She'd fly off the handle, scream the house down at him, sometimes not speak to him for days, over something as silly as putting too much milk in her tea. Looking back, Dougie had no idea why he stuck around for so long, but he had, at one point, loved her. When she wasn't in a mood, she was the nicest person anyone had ever met: funny, confident, exciting. But she'd get jealous, she'd tell Dougie he was spending too much time with the band, that he didn't love her, and that if he really loved her he'd make sure he had enough time to spend longer with her. He stopped going out, his life became work, and Chloe, not because he wanted it to be like that, but because she made it so. She was manipulative, burning bridges that weren't hers to burn, keeping Dougie stranded on her so-called perfect little island. Dougie took a long drag of his cigarette and flicked the ash off the end. Why did she still make him feel like this? So worthless, so much like there was nothing left in the world for him without her? Was it ever going to stop?

It all got too much for Dougie one say. He saw what she was really like through clear eyes, he saw that he needed to get out. It had been a day just like any other day, the day they broke up. By 11am she'd already flown off the handle and stormed out of the house. That was the first time Dougie had seen sense, when he was worried she was never going to come back. At first he was devastated, heartbroken, at how she could do that, just up and leave like their relationship had meant nothing to her. He had called Tom, who came round to console him, and in doing so, let slip what he'd made sure to keep quiet until then: what he really thought of Chloe. Hearing Tom speak like that about someone made something in Dougie's mind click, made him see that maybe life could be okay without her, that maybe there was another way, however much adjusting it would take.

It was at times when Dougie thought about her that the thoughts that he could crawl back to her in a heartbeat came creeping back into his mind. He tried more than anything to hold on to those feelings he had that day with Tom, to the relief when he realised he was free of her, to the dawning of how their relationship really was, to the freedom of being able to do what he liked again, without having to worry if she'd start ignoring him. But as much as he tried, all he could remember was how secure he had felt when they were together, how much he felt like he fit in, how much he felt like he finally had a place in the world. He didn't want to remember, he wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything, from how loved she could make him feel, right through to how crap she knew how to make him feel at the flick of a switch. He wanted his mind filled with cotton wool, so thick that he would not be able to see through to anything stuffed away in the dusty corner of his mind marked '_Her_'.

Dougie's mind drifted to the previous few days, to the bar, to Veronica. He stuffed his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out the piece of paper with her phone number he'd kept with him, and his mobile phone. He finished his cigarette and threw the end out the window, before dialling the number so fast, he would not have a chance to change his mind. If anyone had something that could make him forget, it would be Veronica.

The line rang for a couple of seconds before her cool, nonchalant voice filled the phone, "Hello?"

"Um, hi, Veronica? You probably don't remember me… We, um, we met a few days ago, outside the Pegasus Arms. It's Dougie?" Dougie rambled, realising he was now trapped in the phone call, however much he was regretting it.

"Oh hey man! Didn't think I'd be hearing from you so soon. Did you want to get some more of that green then?" She asked, he American accent becoming more prominent the more she spoke.

Did he want to buy more? He must do, or he wouldn't have phoned her in the first place. He had to say yes now, didn't he?

"Uh, yeah," Dougie found himself replying.

"Cool man, I can meet you back at The Peg, in like 20 minutes?" She asked, her flawless face coming back into Dougie's mind as she spoke.

"Um, yeah, yeah that'd be great. See you later," Dougie said quickly, before hanging up, not waiting for a response, not wanting to let himself hear her anymore, not really knowing why he even called in the first place.

But he had called her, which meant, on some level, he either wanted more drugs, or he wanted to talk to her. Dougie wasn't quite sure which one it was, nor did he really care. He was done with being told what he could and could not do, it was time to let go, to do what he wanted to do, to do everything he never could, or never would have done before. He needed time to himself, away from the boys, something that was his and only his, to fill the void still raw from where Chloe had ripped his heart out through his ribcage. He needed the chance to at least try to be free of everything weighing him down.

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked the chapter :). Please leave a review to let me know what you thought, and thank-you so much to anyone who's still reading this story after I've left it for so long! I can't promise that it will be really soon, but it will definitely not be another 3 months until my next update!<strong>

**Also, to the Chloe who reviews this story if you're still reading, I didn't notice that I gave Dougie's ex the same name as you until after I uploaded it.. I must have just had it as a name I associated with this story in my head or something! Sorry!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello! Told you it wouldn't be another 3 months before I updated again! Thank-you so, so much to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, I really can't tell you how much it means to me to know that there are still so many people reading this story even after I abandoned it for so long. This chapter is sort of 2 chapters in one, but they were a little too short for me to want to upload them separately. The second half of this chapter is the reason I left this story for so long, I just found it impossible to write for some reason, so now that I'm past that I've got quite a bit planned for this story :D. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think, and I should have the next chapter up within the week!**

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><p>"Hey, man!" Veronica's now-familiar voice sang as Dougie turned the corner to the pub, seeing her sat on a bench at one of the picnic tables under the navy blue awning, a cigarette perched between the fingers of her fishnet fingerless-glove covered hands.<p>

"Hey," Dougie smiled, surprised at how comforting he found her face, surprised by how normal this all felt to him as he sat down next to her, lighting his own cigarette to give him an excuse to talk to her a little longer.

"Y'alright?" Veronica asked, as she rummaged through her handbag.

"Yeah, I guess," Dougie shrugged, "And you?"

"Pretty good, man, pretty good," She said, looking up from her bag, "You just want another ten, yeah?"

Dougie nodded, wishing he could tell her he didn't really want anything, wishing he could tell her he'd changed his mind, or that he'd just called her to hear her voice, or that he just wanted an excuse to see her again.

"Cool," Veronica said, holding out a cupped had. Dougie put his hand underneath and felt a small plastic baggie being passed into his, "It's not the same stuff I had the other day, but it's still pretty good, man,"

Douige again just nodded, knowing that the chances were he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the two types of weed. He put the baggie into his pocket, at the same time pulling out a crumpled ten pound note, and a bright red plectrum.

"You play?" Veronica asked, seeing the pick.

Dougie nodded, a little shyly, "Yeah, bass," He smiled.

"No shit man, me too!" Veronica beamed, "You in a band?"

Dougie paused, thinking for a second about what to tell her. What if she worked out who he was? What if she went to the press or something? Told them 'Dougie out of Mcfly' was buying drugs? She hadn't seemed like the type to know who he was though; by the looks of it, she liked her music so underground that even the bands themselves hadn't heard of their own songs.

"Um, yeah," Dougie found himself saying, eventually.

"Oh cool man, me too. Anyone I've heard of?"

"Probably not," Dougie mumbled, honestly, hoping she wouldn't ask the name of the band.

Veronica laughed a little, "Same here. One day, man, one day," She said. Her phone buzzed in her hand and she looked down at the screen, "Shit, I'm sorry man, I've got to go. Hey, listen, there's a party going on round here tonight, my band are playing, you should come check us out if you're around,"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Dougie stuttered, slightly taken aback by the invitation.

"Sweet," Veronica said, taking out an old receipt and a pen from her bag, scribbling down an address and handing it to Dougie, "See you tonight, man," She smiled, standing up from the bench and flicking her cigarette, before walking off down the road, leaving Dougie slightly bemused.

She was a drug dealer, wasn't she? Dougie thought, as he sat alone outside the empty pub. Drug dealers just sell drugs; they're not meant to be friends, are they? They don't invite you to parties, do they? So why did she invite him? Did she like him? No, no that would be impossible, Dougie thought, pushing that to the back of his mind. Did she recognise him? Maybe she had done. Maybe she was an undercover police officer, or newspaper reporter, waiting to catch him out. No, no, he shouldn't go to the party, that would just be opening doors to all kinds of trouble.

But what if he allowed himself to entertain the thought that perhaps Veronica liked him, that perhaps she saw him the same way he say her, perhaps he made her feel the same way she made him feel; the fluttery nervous excitement in his gut, the feelings of awe and want as he looked at her. If they had met under different circumstances, Dougie may have been mistaken into thinking what he was feeling for her was some sort of love at first sight kind of deal, but he knew better than that. If anything, this was lust at first sight, and even that was up for debate. He just wanted to get to know her better, to cut loose, to see her world, to be introduced to a world he'd have never been able to see otherwise. A world of underground parties, and drugs, and effortlessly cool girls, and bands he'd never heard of. The sort of life one would imagine an up-and-coming rock star to live, the sort of life Dougie thought he might have had if the band had worked out differently, if they hadn't had the record label from the start, if they'd have had a period of having to "make it" as it were, rather than being born, to an extent, pre-made.

Maybe it'd be fun, going to the party. Maybe it would be exactly what he needed, a little time away from the guys, away from the pressure of everything, where no-one knew who he was, where no one knew what had gone on with him and Chloe, away from therapists and dissociative disorders, away from his friends' overbearing concern. Maybe even a little time away from himself, where he could be someone else, someone who's life was different, someone who thought differently, someone who had a chance to enjoy everything without ruining it all by over-thinking.

Dougie looked at his watch, seeing that it was nearly 5pm. They'd be leaving for the much-dreaded therapy session soon, and Dougie knew he had to make his way home so that Tom wouldn't worry, or get suspicious of anything. He pushed himself up of the park bench, patting at his pocket to make sure the baggie was still in place, and began on the short walk back to Tom's house.

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><p>"And how do you feel about that, Dougie? Do you think that's a fair comment for Tom to make?" Julia asked, turning to look at Dougie, for once the least awkward looking for the four, as they sat on Julia's sofa, all avoiding eye contact with each other, and, moreover, with Julia.<p>

Dougie twiddled his thumbs, looking down at his shoes, "Uh, yeah, I guess," He mumbled.

"Good, good. And does anyone have any ideas what we can do about that?" Julia said, trying to extract some sort of interaction from at least one of them.

Danny, Harry and Tom exchanged a glance, Dougie keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his shoes, "No, that's why we're here," Danny said, eventually.

"Yes, but I can't just tell you what to do, it has to come from all of you. That's why you're here, I'm just here to guide you. So Tom, you say that it worries you when Dougie doesn't talk to any of you, so what can we do about that?" Julia said, posing the same question yet again.

"I, uh, I guess I can try and talk more. I just, I don't want to waste anyone's time, you know, 'cause like, I'm always fine in the end." Dougie reasoned.

"You wouldn't be wasting our time, mate. We'd rather know things maybe we'd be happier not knowing than have you not tell us at all," Harry said, shooting a glance across to Dougie.

Dougie felt a pang as his chest tightened in guilt, knowing what Harry was referring to and praying he didn't mention anything else. He felt bad lying to them, of course he did, though he reasoned with himself that he wasn't so much lying, as just withholding the truth to protect them, and what they didn't know couldn't hurt them. However much Harry may say he wanted to know what was going on, Dougie was almost certain he didn't mean it. The guys would freak out if they knew about Veronica, or if they knew about the fact that Dougie had another little baggie of weed stuffed away in his bedroom, or if they knew what sort of party Dougie was planning on lying to them about where he was going to tonight. No, they may think they'd rather know, but it would only cause them more stress than peace of mind. All Dougie had to do was sit through the session, to try and make everyone think that everything was going fine, to try and not let anyone catch onto the fact that something may be somewhat amiss.

"Dougie?"

Dougie looked up, realising how little attention he'd been paying, "Huh?" He said, bemused.

"Dougie are you alright? Were you drifting a little there?" Julia asked. The other three shot him a worried look.

"No, no I'm fine. God, will you all stop asking me if I'm alright every fucking five minutes! I'm fine!" Dougie shouted, pushing himself up of the sofa. Anger boiled within him, and despite knowing his friends only had his best interests at heart, Dougie couldn't help but just want to get away. This was too much; he knew it would all be too much. Too much pressure, too many questions he couldn't answer, so much that he wished he knew what to do or how to stop, or even just why it was happening at all. His head filled and filled with anger and anxiety, questions without answers and answers without questions, all simmered together into one big soup of nothingness that was better pushed to one side and forgotten about. Dougie turned towards the door, following all the instincts in his head screaming at him to get away. Maybe it was about time for him to start listening to those instincts. He'd never listened to them with Chloe, all the times he'd felt trapped or suffocated, he just ignored it because it was easier, and that didn't work. Maybe it was time to finally listen, to actually run when his legs screamed at him to run.

"Dougie! What are you doing?" Harry said, alarmed, standing up and grabbing on to Dougie's arm as he attempted to run past.

"Get off!" Dougie screamed, staring directly into Harry's eyes, trying to shake his arm free, "Just get the fuck off of me!"

Taken aback, Harry loosened his grip, seeing the rage in his friend's eyes, a kind of rage he had never seen come from Dougie before. To be perfectly honest, it scared him, it terrified him to see how much Dougie was changing before his eyes, not knowing what he could do to stop it, or how to get the old Dougie back.

Dougie yanked his arm out of Harry's grasp, and shot one last look at his friends, "I'll see you back at home later," He said, flatly, turning and walking out the room, leaving his friends reeling in a stunned silence.

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked the chapter! Please remember to leave me a review to let me know what you think, and I shall update again (hopefully!) in a few days :D.<strong>


	27. Chapter 27

**Hello! Thank-you all so much for reading and reviewing the last chapter, I'm so happy that I seem to have gotten back into the swing of writing/updating, I missed it! This story now has over 100 reviews, which is mental because when I started I really doubted if anyone would even read it, so thank-you all so, so, so much. I told myself I wouldn't do this because I always find it kinda annoying/insincere to do mass shout-outs, but I just wanted to thank everyone who's reviewed this story so far, so thank-you to: **

_NeverTickleASleepingDragon555, captaindougwash, Bexii-Poynter, iheartmcflyx, Chloe, madbuff, XIdontknowXD , .dreamer .dancer .writer, x-DarkDragon-x , J, anon, flabbadabbadingdong , Erica, aida51, mcflyxlove, shauni2567, eviee31, Vero, ideasfromthebraintoscreen, McFly-and-Glee-lover, puddypants , ad10194, xtwistedanddecayedx._

**(Sorry if I missed anyone out!)You guys are the reason I started writing this story again, you've made me so much more confident you've made me with my writing abilities, so thank-you so, so much!**

**Okay, sappiness/crazy long authors note done! I hope you all like this chapter, it's another split one, so please let me know what you think, and I'll update again in a couple of days!**

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><p>Dougie pushed open the front door of Tom's house, and walked inside, his rage having subsided mostly on the bus ride home, though still bubbling somewhat under the surface.<p>

"Hello?" He called out, hoping that there would be no reply.

"I wasn't expecting you all back so soon!" Giovanna's voice came floating through the house from upstairs.

"Oh, uh, we're not, um," Dougie stumbled, caught of guard. For some reason, he hadn't expected Gi to be home.

"What happened? Is everything okay, Doug?" Gi asked, appearing in the doorway, making her way through to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"Um, yeah... I don't know," Dougie said, sheepishly, following her through, "I, um, I got kinda pissed off, so I, um, left."

"Oh Dougie," Gi said, her voice concerned, "I'm sure whatever happened they didn't mean to upset you."

"No, I know, I just, uh, I don't know. I just need a little space," He said, picking at his nails, doing everything he could to avoid eye contact, knowing that the second he looked Gi in the eye, he wouldn't be able to continue.

"Did you tell them that? I'm sure they'd give you space if you asked, love," Gi said, pouring out two cups of tea.

"I tried, I don't know. Look, I need to get out for a bit. A friend, uh, just moved round the corner. She asked if I wanted to go round for the evening," Dougie kept his eyes fixed on his hands as the lies dripped from his mouth, feeling like a child lying to their parents to sneak out to the cool kid's party, "Can you tell the guys I'm sorry for leaving like I did, and that I'll be back later tonight?" He added, honestly.

"Oh, yeah, of course, hon," Gi said, not convinced that Dougie going out on his own would be the best idea, but knowing Dougie needed her to trust that he was okay to have some time to himself, "Do you want a lift out or anything?" Gi asked, hoping he would say yes so that they would at least know where he was.

"No, it's fine, really," Dougie said quickly, before turning for the door, "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Alright then, have fun. Call us if you need anything, okay?" Gi said, reluctant to let Dougie go, but realising she had no power to stop him.

"I will, thanks," Dougie smiled, before walking back out into the evening.

Outside, Dougie looked down at the address on the crumpled receipt in his hand. It was only 7pm, it was far too early to be able to 'swing by' Veronica's party, but what other choice did he have? Maybe he could go home for a while, back to his own house that he had not stepped foot in for months. As long as no one saw, it would be the perfect place for him to have a little alone time before going out to Veronica's party, making it look like he was just casually swinging by in a couple of hours time. With no other option to hand, Dougie found himself crossing the road to his front door, finding the unused key on his chain and unlocking it.

He stepped inside, a strange sense of nostalgia filling him as he did. He'd been back since him and Chloe had broken up, hell, he'd lived there on his own for a month or so, but to say that it had been easy to do so would not be particularly truthful. Living there without Chloe had been one of the hardest things Dougie had ever had to do, almost harder, in a way, than living there with Chloe, with all her rules, with her overpowering oppression and temper tantrums. Dougie stuck his hands into his pockets, and mentally cursed himself for leaving the baggie of weed at Tom's house, momentarily contemplating going back for it, before walking through the once familiar hallways into the kitchen, and seeing an unopened bottle of red wine on the counter. He rummaged through the cupboards for a wine glass, and a corkscrew, pouring himself a glass and taking it, along with the rest of the bottle, into the living room. At least there was some way he could take the edge of being here.

Sitting himself down on the sofa, Dougie took out his pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips, lighting it, and gulping down most of the glass of wine in one sip before pouring himself another. He dragged on his cigarette and began on his second glass of wine in as many minutes, deep in thought. He didn't want it to be like this. He didn't like it being like this. He hated having to lie to his friends, he hated having to push them away when he knew they were only trying to help, but he couldn't stop himself. Somehow, Veronica and her perfect, porcelain skin had hooked on like Velcro to the soft surface of Dougie's mind. In Dougie's mind, there was something special there, something that he needed to see through, to try and find out where it could lead. Rationally, he knew it could never work, that Veronica's lifestyle could never fit with his, that he could never make his fit with her's, that she was wrong for him in very conceivable way. He didn't even know if she liked him at all, but for now at least, he just had to try and see. He had to allow his mind off at tangents; he had to entertain distant possibilities, because otherwise, he had nothing left at all.

Hours passed as Dougie sat in his bubble, the past crashing into the present and the future in a tsunami of time. He thought about everything, about how he'd even gotten to this point, about how much he must have worried the guys, about how angry they must be with him, and about how bad he'd felt lying to Gi. He thought about Chloe, he wondered if she ever thought about him, if she still missed him, if what happened between that had impacted her life even a fraction of the amount that it had done his. He thought of Veronica, of what this party tonight might be like, about why he was going to such great lengths to go to it, about what the guys would ever think of her if they met.

He thought about wine, and wine, and more wine, and how long had he been sitting there? And where had all the wine gone?

Dougie took out his phone to check the time, seeing that it was now quarter to ten, and that he'd managed to kill nearly three hours without even noticing. His phone also informed him that he had seven missed calls, all from the guys, and three texts from Harry's phone, asking if he was alright, and when he'd be back. Instead of replying, Dougie finished off the last sip in his glass of wine, and picked up the crumpled receipt once more, typing the address into the GPS map in his phone. Seeing that the address was close by, Dougie slipped on his leather jacket, and made his way outside.

As the cool night air hit his face, Dougie noticed how surprisingly sober he felt, despite having just drunk an entire bottle of red wine. His nerves began to set in. What if it was still too early? What if Veronica didn't really want him there? What if he messed this up? What if something went wrong? What if he started disassociating? What if he got there, and realized quite how much he needed the guys? What if by pushing the guys away like this, he was never going to be able to get them back again? Dougie stopped, contemplating turning round and going back to Tom's house, telling them all he was sorry, and forgetting all about Veronica, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The guys would still he there in a couple of hours, Dougie told himself. Surely they wouldn't be worrying about him too much.

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><p>"Fuck!" Harry shouted, hanging up on Dougie's answer phone for the tenth time in two hours.<p>

"Still no luck?" Tom asked, walking back into the living room with a tray of mugs of tea.

Harry shook his head, before going to dial the number again.

"I'm sure he's fine," Danny said, quietly, walking over to take the phone from Harry's hand, "He said he'd be back later tonight, didn't he, Gi?"

Gi nodded, "Yeah, but, I don't know, he seemed a little off... a bit distant, maybe. He might just need a bit of space though, to cool off."

"He's always distant these days," Harry muttered, slumping down on the sofa, defeated.

"Mate, if we haven't heard from him in an hour, then you can start worrying, until then, just see it as him needing some time, okay?" Tom said, gently, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry nodded, though the back of his mind screamed at him not to. He sat, cradling his head in his hands, pulling at the ends of his hair. Of course he was going to be worried after what he'd seen that morning. After he'd found out what Dougie had been doing behind their backs. And that was with him being almost constantly under their supervision... who knew what he would do when left to his own devices. Harry wanted to trust him, he wanted to believe that Dougie had just gone to a friend's house, that he really did just need some time to cool off before he came home and everything was normal again, but the little nodule of knowledge nagged away at the back of Harry's head, telling him that he had to tell the guys what he knew, telling him that going back on his word to Dougie would be the only way to keep Dougie safe from himself.

Harry pulled his head from his hands and looked up, three worried sets of eyes meeting his. He sighed, realising the magnitude of what he was about to have to say, seeing Gi and Tom and Danny in their 'before' states. Before they knew, before everything would change for them, like it had done for Harry this morning. He wished that there was another way, a way to convey why he was so worried without having to destroy Dougie's trust in him, without having to put Gi and Tom and Danny in the the state of 'after' that currently consumed him, but there was none he could think of. Maybe they wouldn't take it so badly, he mused, maybe they would be expecting something like this to have happened, or maybe it would just be easier for them than it had been for Harry, considering they never actually had to see Dougie sneaking around doing drugs.

He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the impending fallout, for everyone to join him in his realm of 'after', "Uh, guys?" He began, quietly, as though if he spoke at a volume they couldn't hear, he could save them from the knowledge.

"Yeah, mate?" Tom replied, turning to look at Harry, waiting.

"Uh, I don't really know how to say this… There's something that's been going on that you guys don't know. Uh, I, um... I have to tell you all something that I... um... that I found out this morning... um, about Dougie…"

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked the chapter, please remember to leave me a review to let me know what you think of it, and I should be back with the next chapter within a couple of days! :D.<strong>


	28. Chapter 28

**Hello! Thank-you as always to everyone who read/reviewed the last chapter, you guys are awesome! Sorry that this chapter took a little longer than expected, and sorry about the cliffhanger at the end of the last one... I think because I know what's coming next in the story I didn't even notice it :P! Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, please leave me a review to let me know. Also, if anyone has any suggestions or anything that would be great too. I know I've focused on the Veronica storyline a lot, but I don't want this to be too focused on OCs, so let me know what you think please!**

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><p>"Why the fuck didn't you tell us this morning, Harry? What the fuck were you thinking?" Tom stood over Harry, screaming, fury radiating from his eyes, his voice more violent than Harry had ever heard before.<p>

Harry sat on the sofa with his head in his hands, waiting for the usually mild-mannered Tom to calm down, "I told you, I thought I could handle it. I wanted Doug to trust me… I wanted to trust him," Harry mumbled, staring at his shoes.

"That's not fucking good enough, Harry! It isn't up to you to decide that! This is Dougie we're talking about… We all had a right to know about this!" Tom continued, his face inches away from Harry's as he shouted.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I should have told you, but he begged me not to," Harry said, quietly, careful to anger Tom any more.

"Tom, mate, you know this isn't Harry's fault," Danny said, approaching Tom and gently putting a hand to his arm.

Tom flew round, directing his anger towards Danny, "What do you mean it isn't his fault? Of course it fucking is! Why are you not pissed off? Don't you care about the fact that Dougs probably out god knows where right now, off his head on god knows what?"

"Of course I'm angry, Tom, but not with Harry. He did what he thought would be best," Danny said, his hands on Tom's shoulders, turning his friend's body to face him, watching as Tom's initial anger faded with time.

"You know I never meant to hurt Dougs, Tom," Harry said, softly.

"I know, I know," Tom said, breathing deeply to control his temper and sitting down on the sofa, "I'm sorry. Ugh, how can Dougie be so stupid?"

"He's not himself right now, that's how I'm seeing it, at least," Harry said. In a way, he still wished he hadn't told them. Maybe he would have been able to handle it on his own, maybe he could have been able to spare the others this state of 'after' that they now joined him in, maybe he could have been able to spare them from the anger and the shock, maybe he would have been able to look after Dougie on his own. And yet, despite that, despite the anguish he knew he had caused the others, despite the fact that he was almost certain he'd lost any chance of keeping Dougie's trust, Harry felt relieved, like a terrible weight had been lifted from him, or at the very least made more manageable by having others to help carry the strain.

"Should we go out and look for him, do you think? You know, like last time he went off?" Danny asked, pacing around the room.

"It's not like last time though, is it?" Gi said, "I mean, he's not just wondered off, he was completely lucid when I spoke to him earlier, just, well, distracted, I think."

"So what are meant to do? Just wait around?" Tom snapped, "Sorry, it's just, what if he's off in some crack den somewhere, or –"

"Mate, he was smoking weed, he's not doing crack," Harry reasoned.

"It's all the fucking same though. Yeah it might be weed today, but who's to say it won't be crack tomorrow?" Tom said, pushing himself off the sofa and standing up.

"Where are you going, sweetie?" Gi asked.

"To search through Dougie's room, there might be some clue as to where he is,"

"You can't just go through his stuff, mate," Danny said.

"Yes I can, I can when he's going to hurt himself. I'm not just going to sit around and do nothing," Tom said, "Are you going to come help me, or are you going to just sit around and wait?"

Harry and Danny shared a reluctant glance, before sighing and nodding in unison, "Alright, come on then."

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><p>Dougie pushed open the unlocked front door of the basement flat, no more than a fifteen minute walk from his house, and felt immediately out of place. The light was dim, and the smell of both weed and tobacco smoke filled the air. A few people were sat in the corridor, slumped against the walls, smoking and drinking from bottles of beer and plastic glasses. Loud grunge-rock music pounded through the walls from the next room, and Dougie walked cautiously through the flat, stepping over the legs of a girl inhaling a line of some sort of white powder through a rolled up banknote up her nose from a CD case. Dougie considered turning back and leaving then and there, this wasn't a place he should be, he should just leave before Veronica saw him. And yet, he couldn't. Something willed him to stay. He walked through the door to what he assumed was the living room, to see about thirty people dancing, crammed into a room adequate sized for about half that, with yet more people sitting propped up against the walls, and a band set-up plugged into amps in the far right corner.<p>

Dougie paused, standing leaning against the wall between the slumped over drunk or high people, and looked up at the band, for the first time noticing Veronica. She was at the front, her dark green bass guitar slung low on her hip, singing into a microphone. Well, singing may have been too loose a term for it, more a cross between shouting and screaming, with a bit of singing thrown in for good measure. Seeing her, Dougie felt the jitters in his stomach take grip again, remembering why he was there, remembering how much he just wanted to be able to talk to her. Dougie stood still, listening to the music, wishing he didn't feel so awkward. They were good, really good, in a shouty-punk-rock sort of a way, and Dougie listened, wrapped up in their music, trying not to notice the drugged-up burn-outs that lined the room, trying to pretend he fit in, that this was totally normal to him, that this sort of a world was not quite so alien to him as it really was.

Surrounded by so many people, Dougie couldn't help but feel alone. He was out of place, not just at the party, but without the guys with him. So he stood, torn, unsure, yet wanting to stay however displaced he felt, not wanting to leave, not wanting to abandon any hope he might have of something happening with Veronica, not sure if he was even welcome back at Tom's house, not after his earlier outburst. Dougie nodded his head along in time to the music, wishing that he could just make up his mind; to either stay and emerge himself in this strange world entirely, or to admit defeat, go home, and face whatever was waiting for him there. Dougie looked towards the door and thought of how easy it would be to just leave, to go back to Tom's, to apologise, to go back to the remnants of his old life and forget all about Veronica, and instead just focus on trying to get back to how he used to be, but he couldn't. This idea of it filled him with terror, rooted him to the spot. This was an escape, a chance to not be himself. He could be anyone he wanted to be.

"Hey! Dougie, man, you made it!" Veronica called out, as the song she was playing came to an end, swinging her bass guitar off her shoulder and setting it down before running across the room to where Dougie was stood.

Dougie felt himself relax at the sound of her voice, the only thing vaguely familiar in this unfamiliar place, "Yeah, hey," He smiled, "Uh, you guys sounded pretty awesome," He added, gesturing at the rest of her band, still jamming in the corner.

"Oh, thanks, man!" Veronica replied, "I'll have to come hear yours play some day," She added.

Dougie laughed nervously, "Yeah, one day," He muttered.

"Did you not come here with anyone?" Veronica asked, looking around.

Dougie shook his head, regretting his decision to come at all, hoping he didn't look as out of place as he felt, though suspecting he did.

"You could have brought people, man! I mean, it's not my house, but the dudes who squat here would have been chill with more people. No worries, though. Hey, do you want a Magic Star? Seeing as you don't know anyone here," Veronica asked.

Dougie just stared at her, his confused. A Magic Star? Because he didn't know anyone? Dougie wasn't sure if he'd misheard her or not, but to him, the sentence didn't make any sense. Could he question it? Or should he just say yes and move on? Or should he just leave, make up an excuse and go? This place wasn't for him, he should be at home, Dougie thought. This wasn't right, nothing was ever right anymore.

Veronica laughed slightly at Dougie's silence, "Oh, right, man, I forgot how cute you were! Here," She said, holding out her hand and opening her palm, revealing two little orange coloured pills, with star shapes pressed into them, "Magic Stars, the best Ecstasy pills around here at the moment. Have one with me, you'll like it,"

"Oh, um, uh, I dunno, I, um," Dougie stumbled, unsure.

"Trust me, man, it's impossible not to have a good time on these," Veronica said, seeing his uncertainty.

Dougie paused, looking round. Wasn't this what he wanted? A chance to get away, a chance to do something he'd never have done before, a chance to be someone who wasn't himself? It was only one night, it was only one pill. What was the worst thing that could happen? He smiled, and reached his hand over to pick up one of the pills before he could talk himself out of it, "Sure, thanks," He smiled.

"No worries, man. I think tonight's going to be a good one," Veronica smiled back, popping her pill into her mouth and swallowing it.

Dougie looked at the small orange circle in his hand once more, before putting it into his mouth at the back of his tongue, shuddering slightly at the chemical taste of the pill, before swallowing, feeling its dryness scrape against the inside his throat. Though a good one, as Veronica had said, might be a bit too optimistic, the night was certainly going to be an interesting one, Dougie thought.

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><p>Gi, Harry and Danny stood in the doorway of the spare room as Tom rummaged through Dougie's possessions, throwing clothes across the room as he searched frantically. Harry took out his phone, trying to call Dougie again, trying to do something that could diffuse Tom's panic. He wished he hadn't told them. He wished he could have just kept his word to Dougie, and kept this between the two of them. For all any of them knew, Dougie could be fine, or, at least, fine given the circumstances.<p>

"Tom! Stop it, this isn't helping!" Gi shouted, as Tom upturned the bedside cabinet, running over to his side and putting her hands over his, stopping him from throwing anything else.

Tom paused, looking around at the mess he had created, breathing deeply. He took his hands back from Gi and rubbed his eyes, collapsing down onto the bed in frustration. He didn't know what to do anymore, but he knew he had to figure it out. It was his responsibility, Dougie was his responsibility, and he'd fucked up. He'd somehow led Dougie to believe that his only option were drugs. How had he failed his friend quite so badly? He felt tears roll down his cheeks as he sat, deflated.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to do anymore. It's like I don't even know who Dougie is these days," Tom sighed, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Dougie's Dougie, same as he's always been… just, well… different," Danny said, walking into the room towards Tom.

"Yeah, he'll be alright in the end," Harry said, following.

"How can you say that though? How do you know?" Tom asked, still distraught.

"I don't, but I have to believe that he is going to be back to himself soon, because if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to help him." Harry said, sitting down next to Tom.

Tom sighed, annoyed and frustrated with both himself, for giving into his emotions when he knew he should have been keeping it together for the others, and with Dougie, for provoking this in the first place. He tried to push everything to the back of his mind. He could focus on anger later, for now he just needed to come up with some sort of plan to track down where Dougie was, and go to find him. After that, Tom didn't know, but he did know that this had to stop. Dougie could not keep going on like this. Not only was he putting himself in danger, but, as much as Tom hated to admit it, Dougie was now putting a strain on the relationships between the guys. Tom thought back to earlier that night, to how he'd screamed at Harry like he'd never done so before, without ever giving a thought to how hard it all must have been for Harry, to bear the burden of what he had seen, to be forced to make a decision alone for someone else's wellbeing, to be forced into a decision based around lies and secrecy. Tom knew that none of this was Harry's fault, and that Harry was only doing what he thought would be best for Dougie. It was all any of them wanted to do.

"We just have to remember that this is still Dougie. He might not be himself, but the Dougie we all know is still there, and we have to trust that he'll come to his senses and call one of us sometime soon," Danny said, softly, "Until then, Harry and I can go have a look around for him. It's a long shot, but it worked last time he went off. If we haven't heard from him in a couple of hours, then we may need to get the police involved, but we'll deal with that if it comes to it." He continued, taking charge of the situation in lieu of Tom, given his current state.

"Sounds like a plan," Harry nodded, before turning to Tom, "Don't worry, mate, we'll find him."

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked it, please let me know what you think. Next chapter should be up in a few days! Also, just for reference, in my head Veronica's band sound a bit like The Distillers. If you don't know them then you should check them out, 'cause they're awesome. (Yes, I have varied music taste...)<strong>


	29. Chapter 29

**Hello :D. Just wanted to say a huge thank-you as always to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, it's so lovely to get such positive feedback. ****Sorry this story is moving so slowly at the moment, I hope that doesn't bother anyone, but let me know if it does. I h****ope you all like this chapter, please leave me a review to let me know what you think, and I should have the next one up within the week!**

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><p>Dougie sat on a shabby beige sofa, in a room through the back of the flat, Veronica sat down next to him with the music from the party pounding through the walls. Dougie brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it, waiting in anticipation for <em>something<em> to happen. Veronica had told him it would take half an hour for the Magic Stars to kick in, a point in time they were fast approaching, but that once they did it would be intense. Veronica had taken him out into the back room, telling him that it would be best for the pills to kick in and for Dougie to have a chance to get used to it before re-joining the party.

"Are you feeling it yet?" Veronica asked, her mouth twisted into a smile as she stretched her arms out, staring at her hands, "I think I'm coming up."

Almost as if on cue, as soon as Veronica spoke, Dougie felt his chest fluttering, like his heart was beating too fast for his body to handle. He was about to start panicking when another wave hit him, calming him instantly, feeling like every inch of his skin was being soothed. As he looked around the mostly bare room, he couldn't help but smile, his jaw pulling back of its own accord. The dim light of the room tinged with orange as his eyes opened wider, taking in every bit of light they could, wanting to see as much as physically possible. He looked back at Veronica, seeing trails sparkle off her hands as she moved them, and felt himself laugh slightly, fighting off the urge to reach over and stroke her hair as it glimmered in the light.

"I'll take that as a yes then," She laughed, "What do you think?"

"It's… amazing," Dougie said, feeling the words in his mouth before he spoke, tasting their shape, "It's like everything is the same, but different, and better and prettier, and… I didn't know it was possible to feel like this," Dougie rambled, his feelings of ease and euphoria increasing with every word he spoke. He raised his cigarette to his lips, seeing that it had burned down to the end, "Did I smoke that already?" He asked.

"Probably not," Veronica grinned, "They'll do that though, the Magic Stars, they play around with time a little… here, have one of mine," She said, holding open her pack and passing it over.

Dougie took one, smiling. In his current mindset, this was not just Vanessa giving him a cigarette… In his current mindset, a cigarette was not just a cigarette, but a wondrous invention that would fleet between his hand and his mouth in a near perfect exchange, before ceasing to exist at all. In his current mindset, this was a gesture of acceptance; this was her wanting to spend time with him over anyone else at the party. It felt like fate for Dougie to be sat there with her, a kind of magnetism stronger than could be understood by the human mind, drawing him and her together, sucking them into a whirlpool in which they would both cling to the centre. As Dougie thought, his mind formed images out of words, painting landscapes in his minds eye, projecting them out into the room. He lit the cigarette, inhaling it, tasting tobacco in a way he never had done before as the smoke lingered in his mouth.

"I feel so… connected to you," Dougie said, before he even realised what he was saying or how it would sound. He didn't really care; it was true. Or at least, it was in that moment.

"Of course you do, man, we're rolling together," Veronica chuckled, her hand reaching out and landing on Dougie's. As her skin connected with his, Dougie saw little pink fireworks puncturing the orange light of the room, "But I always knew there was something about you, from the first time we met, you seemed… different. I had to roll with you to _know _though, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah I think I do," Dougie nodded, completely entranced in the moment, though not entirely sure what Veronica was saying at all. He knew on some level that he should be questioning things, that Veronica was not the healthiest person for him to pursue, that all this was so far from being him that he had to change himself completely in order to fit, and that, if it really came down to it, he could not. All he could focus on was how happy he felt, the overwhelming swelling of content within his bones, the feeling of belonging in a place he knew he could never really be.

Dougie was so caught up in experiencing the room that it took his a moment to notice the beeping coming from his pocket. Putting two and two together, he slid his phone out, seeing Harry was calling him.

"Oh," Dougie sighed, struck by an internal conflict. It wasn't guilt as such, the Magic Star's overwhelming happiness didn't really allow for that, but there was no anger anymore, no sadness, nothing. In a way, seeing Harry call made Dougie wish he could be there with him. He thought of how connected he felt to Veronica, and imagined how that would feel with someone who he actually shared a connection with in the real world, outside this chemical level. He thought about talking to Harry. He thought about what he would say, about how the words would taste in his mouth, about what Harry could or would say if he knew where Dougie was or what he was doing. Defeated, Dougie silenced the call.

"What's wrong, man?" Veronica asked, reaching her hand out and stroking Dougie's, intertwining her fingers in his.

Dougie left his hand in place even though he knew he shouldn't, the feeling of her skin against his too beautiful not to, "Oh, uh, it's my friends… my band, actually. We're really close, and we had a bit of a, uh, a fight, I guess, earlier today. They don't know I'm here… they wouldn't really approve of this," He gabbled.

"Are they worried about you?" Veronica asked.

"Maybe…. Probably, I guess. I haven't been doing that well lately… and they like to make sure I'm okay," Dougie said.

"You should call them back," Veronica said, lighting two cigarettes and handing one across to Dougie, "If you're as tight with them as you say you are, they'll get it."

"Maybe," Dougie sighed, taking the cigarette from Veronica, "I don't know… I think they're getting a bit fed up with me, honestly," he said. Though he knew there was truth in what Veronica was saying. Through the rainbow coloured sugar-coating that the Ecstasy pills were giving everything in his mind, Dougie could just about see sense. However nice it felt to be away, to feel happy, beyond happy even, to feel a connection to someone new, to feel like he was seeing the world through new eyes, Dougie knew that somewhere behind it all, somewhere so hidden he wasn't even quite certain if it was there, Dougie knew what this wasn't right. Nothing here was real… it was all powdered chemicals and orange light, and fireworks that weren't there.

Dougie felt his heart beating in his chest, his ribcage tightening around it, waiting for the tingling sense of numbness to kick in to soothe him. But it didn't, his chest tightened slightly, feeling a split second of panic wash over his body. He wanted the guys, he needed them. He had to call them back.

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><p>"Come on, Dougie, pick up the damn phone!" Harry shouted, hanging up on Dougie's voicemail yet again. He and Danny had gone in search round the area, but not found anything that could have led them to Dougie, so they sat back in Tom's living room, drinking tea and making phone calls, hoping that something would happen, or that one of them would have a brainwave of a brilliant idea or plan they could put in place.<p>

Harry thought back to the group therapy session, to when Dougie stormed out, to how he had managed to hold on to his arm, how he could have stopped any of this from happening. He'd had Dougie quite literally in the palm of his hands, and he had let him go. What sort of friend was he, if he could just let Dougie go when he knew he needed him the most? Dougie had needed help, guidance, and instead Harry had essentially just left him to fend for himself. Tom had been right; this was all his fault. How could it not be?

Harry's thoughts of self deprecation were interrupted by the ringing of his phone, breaking the deathly silence, startling everyone in the room.

"Who is it?" Dan asked, as Harry checked the screen.

"It… it's him. It's Doug," Harry replied, shocked as he found himself nervous to talk to Dougie. Harry felt disgusted in himself. How could he be nervous to talk to his best friend?

"Answer it, dude," Tom said, impatient, anxious to see if Dougie was okay.

Harry nodded, gulping down his fear, and clicked the green button, "Hello?"

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><p>Fuck, Dougie thought, hearing Harry's worried voice through the crackling phone line. He hadn't thought this through properly. What was he meant to say now? Dougie felt so lost within the crevasses of his own mind that he couldn't think of how he could possibly interact with Harry and have him not suspect anything. Right there and then, all Dougie could think of was how much he missed the guys, how much he loved them, how much he loved everything and everyone in the world. He had never felt so at ease before, and yet he knew it wasn't real. It was a strange and uncomfortable place to be, hanging in the balance between the outward facts, and what felt so real in his body and mind.<p>

"Hi," Dougie said, eventually.

"Where are you? Is everything okay?" Harry asked. His voice sounded different to Dougie, like someone had run it through a tape recorder, slowed it down and then sped it back up again.

"Everything's fine. Better than fine; everything's amazing. I love you, Harry. I love everything and everyone and everything is so, so beautiful," Dougie rambled, unable to stop speaking once he had started.

There was a long pause on the phone line, "Dougie, where are you?" Harry asked, slowly.

"I'm at a party, a couple of streets over, you should totally come, I miss you, dude. I miss all of you," Dougie said, without really realising what he was saying. Even when it did finally register what he had said, the part of Dougie's brain that wanted the guys there with him screamed louder than the part telling him to shut the hell up.

"Dougie, we're going to come there, okay? Now tell me where exactly you are," Harry said, trying to stay calm, trying to not let any of the horrible thoughts of where Dougie might be and what could be happening come through. He knew something was wrong, he could hear it in Dougie's voice, not to mention in what he was saying. Harry tried to convince himself that Dougie was just really drunk, and not one of the far worse possible situations racing through his mind.

Dougie paused for a second, trying his hardest to use any part of his brain not effected by the Ecstasy pill. He couldn't tell Harry where he was; Harry would make him leave, he would drag him away from Veronica, wouldn't he? Or maybe, Dougie thought, maybe he could convince Harry to stay, to bring the guys and hang out at the party with him. Maybe Harry wouldn't even notice he had taken anything.

"Dougie?" Harry said, breaking Dougie's thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, sorry… I'm at 37 Lymington Street, I think," Dougie said, looking over to Veronica, who nodded to confirm the address, "Yeah, 37 Lymington Street."

"Okay, we'll be right there," Harry replied, "Don't do anything silly, okay Doug?" He added.

Dougie tried to suppress a giggle, "See you soon," He said, hanging up the phone.

"See, they were chill, right?" Veronica asked, as Dougie put his phone down on the sofa and lit another cigarette.

"Yeah, I guess," Dougie replied, hoping that Veronica was right.

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><p>Harry put the phone down, his hands shaking as he ran through the house, wanting to get to Dougie as soon as he could before anything happened. He was certain Dougie had taken something, and knew it couldn't be safe for him to be on his own, or off with whatever so-called friends he was with. This was his fault. This was all his fault. If he'd done something differently this morning, if he'd just told the others then and there, if he hadn't let Dougie out of the room at the therapy session, if he'd followed him, not left him alone, then none of this would have happened.<p>

"Harry! What happened? Where are you going?" Tom shouted, grabbing on to Harry's arm as he, Danny and Gi ran behind, following Harry to the front door.

"He… he's at some party, he wanted us to go there. But… he's not right, he's on something, I don't know what, but he sounded pretty wasted," Harry said, feeling himself start to panic more as he spoke, his breathing getting quicker.

"We'll come with," Danny said, slipping on his leather jacket as Harry opened the door, "Safety in numbers and all that, mate."

Tom nodded, pushing his feet into a pair of Vans, "Yeah, come on, let's go."

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><p><strong>Hope you all liked it, please remember to leave a review, any commentssuggestions/etc are always welcome! Oh, also, I have a Twitter now! If anyone wants to add me, my username is orangepeelpixie. I don't really know anyone who uses Twitter, so I may not tweet all that much, but yeah, come follow me :D.**


	30. Chapter 30

**I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!  
>I've been really busy and not had a lot of time to be writing, and then whenever I did write, this chapter didn't seem to want to work. I'm still not sure if I'm entirely happy with it, but I've had a few people tweetingmessaging me asking when I was going to update, so I'm going to upload this so you guys don't have to wait any longer. Please, please leave a review to let me know what you think of this, because as I said, I'm not sure about this chapter as it stands, but I'm going to move onto the next one or it will just be forever until I update again!**

**Thank-you so much to everyone who's patient enough to still be reading (and interested in) this story :D. I'm going to try and get the next chapter done within a couple of weeks, but feel free to pester me through PM or twitter (*at* orangepeelpixie) it I take much longer than that, because that's what got me to upload this one in the end!**_  
><em>

**Sorry for the super long author's note! Hope you all like the chapter! Enjoy :D.**

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><p>Tom did not like it inside the flat Dougie had given them the address to; he did not like it one bit. He did not like the smell of smoke choking him as he tried to breathe. He did not like the fact that his shoes were sticking to the floor as he tried to walk. He did not like the amount of people who looked like they wouldn't know which way was up, but most of all, Tom did not like the idea of Dougie being in a place like this alone for one second. He clasped onto Gi's hand as he followed Harry and Danny through the crowds of people, a knot of guilt swelling in his stomach. How had everything got to the point where Dougie had felt like this was a place he should be? And how had they been such terrible friends that they hadn't even seen this coming? He looked over at Gi, her eyes glazing past the room. He had wanted her to stay at home, but she had insisted on coming, said it was her fault Dougie was there in the first place for not stopping him from going out. Though no-one else thought anything was Gi's fault, Tom knew better by now than to try and argue with her once her mind was made up.<p>

Weaving their way through the people and rooms, Harry considered phoning Dougie to see where he was, but decided against it for fear of startling Dougie out of telling them exactly what was going on. He reminded himself how lucky there were to have come this close as easily as they had done. Constantly reminding himself that it could have been worse was the only way Harry could keep himself strong enough to handle what was happening. He looked over at Danny, who looked increasingly angry with each drugged-out person he stepped over as they made their way through the party. Harry knew that he had to stay calm if Danny wasn't, because as soon as they found Dougie, Harry didn't know what Tom would do. At first, he thought he'd have been angry, but with Danny covering that base, and seeing the look on Tom's face, he was now almost convinced that Tom would start crying, which Harry doubted would help the situation. No, he had to stay calm, if for no reason other than simply because _someone _had to.

"Guys!"

They all looked round to see Dougie running towards them, his cheeks bright red, his lower jaw protruding from his what looked like the biggest smile humanly possible that his mouth was twisted into, and his blue irises completely taken over by his blown pupils as his eyes flickered from left to right. His skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat, his t-shirt sticking to his body.

"Fuck," Harry muttered to himself, shaking his head, "Err, hey," He added, louder, looking to Dougie.

"Ohmigod I'm so happy you guys came, I missed you so much… it's not the same being somewhere without you guys, it's like, we're meant to be together, like, it's like going out without an arm or something… it's like some of the atoms of my skin had been left behind," Dougie rambled, thinking he sounded profoundly philosophical, when in reality he just sounded high as a kite.

Tom looked on, his mouth agape. If he hadn't know better, he may have thought Dougie was just really, really drunk, but he knew otherwise, including what Dougie's dishevelled appearance gave away. He was too alert, too disconnected, too… well… too fucked up. He couldn't take it. He couldn't stand here and watch Dougie like this. He had to get out. He had to get out now.

"I-I'm sorry, guys, I-I can't do this," Tom stammered, before turning and bolting out of the room.

"Shit," Gi said, looking from the space where Tom had stood, to the door, and then back to Danny and Harry apologetically, "I should –"

"Yeah, no, of course," Harry nodded, still slightly in shock, as Gi turned and ran to chase after Tom.

"What's wrong? What did I do?" Dougie said in a wide-eyed, drug-induced confusion.

"What did you do?" Danny shouted, unable to control his rage any longer, "What the fuck do you think you did? This, Dougie! You sneak around, lying to us, you throw it back in our faces when we try and help you by having stupid little temper tantrums, and now you're fucked off your head on God knows what, and you're asking what you did? You are un-fucking-believable right now, Dougie!"

Dougie felt his chest tightening and panic setting in as he fell from his floating cotton-wool cloud, crashing down onto the harsh concrete floor. He backed away slightly, and felt himself start to shake, his body and mind racing at a million miles an hour, speeding further and further away from anything that seemed logical with every second that stretched out in front of his eyes.

"I… uh… I," Dougie tried to speak, finding it harder to talk as his breathing got faster and shallower.

"Danny, stop," Harry said, his voice firm and sharp, grabbing onto Danny's arm and moving to stand in between him and Dougie, "He's clearly off his head on something, you have to be calm with him or you might freak him out, you know… Give him a bad trip or something."

"I don't care if he has a fucking bad trip, Harry, in fact, I hope he does have one, that way he won't do this shit again," Danny spat.

"No, you don't want that, you really don't. He could freak out and do just about anything, and we don't want that. Just… go home and calm down, alright mate? I can deal with Dougie," Harry said, making sure to keep his voice low and calm, not wanting Dougie to hear.

Danny breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down from the initial shock, "Yeah," He nodded, "Yeah okay… Are you sure you can deal with him, though?"

"Yeah, mate, don't worry," Harry said, not really sure if he was telling the truth, but knowing Dougie needed a calm atmosphere around him which wouldn't be the case if Danny stuck around. Not that he didn't have every right to be annoyed, but it wasn't what Dougie needed right now. Danny could be annoyed all he liked in the morning, once Dougie was sober enough to understand.

"Call me and let me know how things are going, yeah?" Danny asked, calming down a little as he turned to leave.

Harry nodded, watching as Danny marched out through the crowd of people. He turned his attention to Dougie, seeing him shaking slightly, taking short and shallow breaths.

"Doug? Are you alright? What have you taken?" Harry asked, facing Dougie with his hand on his shoulder.

"I, uh, a took a pill, Veronica said it was a Magic Star.. um, I think she said it was Ecstasy," Dougie said, trying to catch his breath, looking around every direction aside from into Harry's eyes. This wasn't fun anymore, nothing was as nice as it had been before Tom ran off and Danny had started shouting. Everything was just racing now, going ten thousand times quicker than it should have been, his hands trembling from adrenalin and panic, his eyeballs jittering around faster than her knew they could move. It was like he was a video tape being fast-forwarded, while the rest of the world played out at normal speed.

Harry sighed, holding his hand to his forehead as he shook his head. He wanted to be angry at Dougie's stupidity, or upset, or shocked, or surprised, but he couldn't be. Nothing Dougie did these days could shock him any more, just further serve to scare him, making him wonder where it all started to fall apart. Harry didn't know much about Ecstasy pills; he had known people who had taken them at parties, but he had never knowingly been around anyone on them. He dug through his mind, trying to drag up any shred of information that could tell him what to expect from Dougie, or what he should do with him.

"Okay," Harry said, slowly, trying to hold onto his patience, "Okay, let's get you home, we can work everything else out then."

"B-but… Veronica, I... I was with Veronica. Oh, Harry, it was so, so incredible, like... I can't even describe it," Dougie said, completely unaware of how fast he was speaking.

"I'm sure Veronica will be fine," Harry sighed, taking hold of Dougie's arm, "Now come on, please, Doug."

Dougie nodded, following Harry, unable not to, his brain only managing to hold on to split seconds of information at a time, and right now, it was focused on not being left alone. He followed Harry out through the house and outside, the cold air of the winter's night hitting his too-hot skin, sending a slight shiver down his spine as a wide grin spread across his face. He was torn between enjoying the experience of the Magic Star - how it made every little thing feel amazing, how the particles of his skin bounced around under the street lamps, how the air outside seemed to so perfectly counter the heat of his body - and feeling a tremendous weight of guilt as he looked over to Harry. The pill may have affected the way in which he was thinking, but it didn't change the fact that he knew Harry was horribly disappointed in him, that he had angered Danny, and upset Tom. Had the Magic Star not been blocking any feelings of sadness, he felt as if he might break down in tears then and there, the realization of what he had done, of how he had betrayed everyone's trust, hitting him like a train at full speed before he had a chance to even notice he was standing in the middle of the tracks.

"I… I'm sorry, Harry…" Dougie sighed, looking up at the full moon in the clear sky, taking note of the shape, the colour, the way it contrasted perfectly with the darkness of the sky. It looked like how he felt, a tiny ball of brightness trapped within darkened walls; the effects of the Magic Stars when combined with his ongoing, off-kilter mental state. Not that the affects of the pills were without fault, or even all together good, Dougie was coming to realize, unable to form a coherent sentence through all the tangents his mind kept flying off at.

"It's okay, we can talk about it in the morning," Harry replied, taking hold of Dougie's hand as a parent would a child, leading him across the road, not trusting him to walk on his own right now. Once on the pavement, Harry took out a cigarette, trying to keep himself calm for Dougie's sake, lighting it and offering the packet to Dougie.

Dougie grinned down at the packet, taking one followed by Harry's lighter, putting the cigarette in his lips and lighting it with a shaky hand. Though he could not quite attach the same amount of value to this cigarette as he had done to the one Veronica had given him, to Dougie's current mind, it still seemed like more than a cigarette. It was a reminder that though he had upset his friends, they were still there for him, or rather, Harry was still here for him. He felt a stab of empty pain in his gut as they walked along the road, thinking back to the looks on Tom and Danny's faces.

"Are they… Are they going to talk to me again?" Dougie asked quietly, looking down to the pavement, focusing on his feet and the size of the paving stones.

Harry sighed, nodding his head slightly, "Yeah, of course they are. They're just, well, shocked, I guess, and disappointed in you, and that will manifest itself in different ways with different people. Tom got upset, because he doesn't know how you're going to react to anything anymore, and that scares him… it scares all of us, to be honest… And Danny, Danny just snapped. You know Danny, he didn't mean it, he didn't mean to get angry, but it was how his fears manifested themselves. But we can talk about this all in the morning, because honestly, Doug, if you're even half as out of it as you look right now, you're not going to remember any of this by then." He said, his voice saddening and trailing off towards the end as they approached his house, taking out his keys to unlock the door and holding it open for Dougie.

Dougie didn't know how to react to that. It was true, even he couldn't deny that he was hardly in control of his thoughts or his actions right now, having surrendered any semblance of control the second he'd swallowed the Magic Star. But even so, even through all that, there was still a small portion of his mind, buried deep at the back of all the darkness that was still him. Really, truly him, without any of the disassociation, without the numbing Ecstasy partially living up to its name, without the fear and guilt and depression, there was one part of his mind that was just_ him. _He just needed to find a way to harness it and hold onto it for later, and focus on holding on to it as best he could for now until the drugs wore off.

He sat down on the sofa, rubbing his eyes with his hand, feeling far to alert and buzzed to even be able to consider the concept of going to sleep anytime soon despite how late it was, and all the drama of the day that would ordinarily have worn him out. He looked over to Harry, feeling the jitters racing through his body yet again, wishing he hadn't been stupid enough to take the pill without having any idea what it would do to him. He had a feeling he was in for a very, very long night.

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><p><strong>I hope you all liked it, please leave me a review to let me know, and I'll try and update again ASAP. Like I said, feel free to tweet me to remind me, or just to chat! I don't use twitter much, but I check it fairly often so I will see and it'll remind me to hurry up!<strong>


	31. Chapter 31

**Hey, so um.. remember when I used to actually update this?**

**Yeah I'm sorry for disappearing, I've been really busy with a lot of stuff and I haven't really be writing at all, and to be honest I kinda forgot about these stories. I would try and wrap it up into an ending but I really hate ending stories so I'm just going to leave it going and I'll try and update it at some point in the near future.. That is if anyone is still wanting to read this! I've got the next chapter planned out and I would say I'll update it in a few weeks but last time I said that was about a year ago so yeah, hopefully I'll update it sooner than that this time! **

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><p>"I never meant to upset you guys," Dougie gabbled for what seemed to Harry like the thousandth time that evening, "I just… I don't know, and now everything feels so right and I can't explain it and oh I love you guys so much and…"<p>

"I know Doug, I know" Harry sighed. He could tell even though Dougie's drug-addled state that he meant what he said, but he still couldn't quite get his head around everything. He sighed, looking up at the clock on his living room wall. It was 5am and Dougie showed no sign of coming down anytime soon. He shook his head slightly before standing up from the sofa to make himself another cup of coffee. Listening to your best friend talk nonsense for five hours was far more tiring and stressful than harry ever could have imagined. Not that he would have imagined any situation like this ever occurring. Everything was wrong, it was like some strange parallel world where nothing quite worked right, it was like going through the looking glass or down the rabbit hole or any other clichéd analogy his exhausted mind could think of. But they were clichéd because they were true, and Dougie was floating around in his own little world for tonight, far to high to Harry to be able to catch him and drag him back down to reality.

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><p>Dougie woke up, or rather Dougie's eyes opened, taking in far too much light and immediately shutting again. He groaned, he eyes bleary and his head fuzzier than ever, every muscle in his body aching. His jaw was stiff and his mouth was dry and his chest held a weight of fear and anxiety and sadness greater than even that which he had become accustomed to lately. He wasn't quite sure where he was or what had happened, and trying to work anything out took far more energy than he could muster. He pulled the blanket over his face and sunk his head deeper into the cushions of Harry's sofa. He wasn't tired in the slightest but his body couldn't stand the thought of being awake; to be put simply, this morning he didn't wish to exist at all.<p>

"Dougie?" Harry called tentatively from across the room, hearing Dougie stir, "You awake?"

When Dougie didn't respond Harry lifted his head from his own sofa and looked over to Dougie's, seeing the blanket now pulled over his face. Harry rubbed his eyes and looked over to the clock on the wall, seeing it was 2pm. Dougie had finally started coming down around 7am and Harry had encouraged him to try and sleep, eager to pass out himself soon after. It had been a long and exhausting night for Harry, though he suspected the night would take its toll today far worse on Dougie than it would on himself.

Dougie lay awake with an uncontrollable urge to cry fizzing away at his eyes. He balled his fists in frustration and clenched his jaw, releasing it again when he realized quite how stiff it was, and unfortunate after-effect of the Magic Star. Nothing was right. He could barely remember how he'd felt the night before, but he knew he had felt good, better than he ever had done before. Now though, this, this was worse than he had ever known it was possible to feel, his mind and his body ganging up against him in an all consuming pain and malaise. He curled himself up into a ball on his side, trying to shrink into himself enough to disappear.

Harry pushed himself up off his sofa and walked over to Dougie, equal parts wanting to talk to him, and not wanting to disturb him if he needed to rest still. Harry knew that however bad, however upset or confused he felt, Dougie would be feeling ten times worse. He sighed, perching down on the edge of Dougie's sofa and resting a hand gently on his friend's shoulder over the blanket.

Dougie flinched slightly as Harry's hand came into contact with his shoulder. He bit on his lower lip, trying to stop words that he didn't know he was thinking from tumbling out everywhere. Nothing made sense, his mind was hazy and dark, dry and tired, confused and blank all at once. He was thinking nothing and everything at the same time, trying to fix thoughts into words and words into sentences and not having all that much luck in doing so. After what felt like hours he opened his mouth, inhaling deeply before gathering the will to speak.

"Do… do you hate me?" Dougie asked, his voice quiet and raspy.

Harry squeezed onto Dougie's shoulder, shaking his head "Oh Dougie... no, no of course not" He sighed, his anger being replaced with nothing but sadness as his heart broke at the pain in Dougie's voice.

"A-and Tom and Danny... what about them?" Dougie asked, his voice a little stronger though still cracking

"No one hates you, Dougie" Harry said, trying be be reassuring but even himself hearing the uncertainty in his own voice.

The truth was Harry had no idea how things were going to be with Tom and Danny. They were angry, of course they were angry, but Harry knew they loved and cared for Dougie as much as he did, and that that would win out over any anger. It just may take some time to do so.

But Dougie didn't have time. He needed help, he needed support, he needed his friends, and he needed them now more than ever. Dougie knew when he was being lied to even through the fizziness of his current state of mind, and the thought that things may never be the same again with two of his best friends was too much for Dougie to handle. His breaths choked in his throat, tears streaming from his eyes as he broke down, lifting his head out from the blanket and directing his tear-stained red-rimmed eyes at Harry.

"D-don't lie to me, Haz," He managed, words getting caught up with sobs in his throat, "I... I n-need to s-see them."

"You will see them," Harry said, his voice firm and reassuring, carful this time not to falter "Tomorrow. You're in no state to deal with that today, and to be honest I don't think they are either. Give them today to cool off, they're come round tomorrow and we can all talk, ok?"

"Ok," Dougie muttered, knowing Harry was right, "Ok"

Harry smiled slightly, reaching his arm round Dougie and pulling him into a hug, "It's gonna be fine, yeah? It will be ok."

"N-nothing's ok," Dougie said, pulling his head up from Harry's shoulder and wiping his eyes, before pulling his knees to his chest and sitting up against the back of the sofa, "L-like... it's like... Nothing was ok with me being me, and I wanted to be someone else, and then last night I was someone else, but I don't remember who that was anymore and now... now I'm back to being me again only worse than ever."

Harry sighed, pursing his lips a little, "But things will get better. If things can get worse then they can get better. You can be yourself but without all this.. this isn't you, this is a comedown, a side effect of bad decisions. And I'm not going to barrate you or judge you for what you did last night because that's not what you need right now, but things will get better, I promise you they will."

Dougie shook his head, tears forming in his eyes again, "I didn't think I coud feel any worse than I did before, like, before last night, but now... I can't... I can't see anything. I can't see any future or any time in the past when I didn't feel worse than I'd ever felt before. What if I could feel worse than this? What would happen then? Because I don't think.. I don't think I could live with feeling worse than this."

"You won't," Harry said, trying his best to be reassuring, though terrified of the possibility he could be wrong, "And if you do, if you feel any worse at all, just... please tell me straight away, so I know.. so I can help, ok?"

"I will," Dougie promised sincerely. Though the weight of pain and sadness and dread still sat heavy in his stomach, Dougie felt a tiny glimmer of something else. Not happiness as such, no, that didn't feel anywhere near possible, but a sort of acceptance that maybe things could be ok, though he had no idea how. Today all he wanted to do was lay down and not to think of move or do anything. He felt fragile, mentally and physically, as though the slightest thing today to break him into a million pieces of shattered mind and body. Tomorrow he could focus on trying to make everything better, but for now he just had to focus on getting through the day.

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><p><strong>I hope you all liked the chapter, p<strong>**lease leave a review and let me know what you thought! ****Again, I'm sorry for disappearing for so long, I'll try and update sooner next time!**


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